


TMM (PIL)

by Ghost_Written



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 90,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28250967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_Written/pseuds/Ghost_Written





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger’s mouth hung open as she stared at the specter of her longtime best friend. He wasn’t due home from Auror training for another year, and yet there he was standing in front of where she clutched Draco Malfoy’s hand like letting it go would make the blond vanish into thin air.

Ron Weasley’s face was screwed up in incredulous horror as he stared at his best friend and sworn enemy holding hands, a violent puce shade that could put Vernon Dursley to shame rising under his freckles. Once Hermione was able to tear her eyes away from his face, she saw that Ron was leaning on crutches, his left leg bound in a tight magical cast. She gave Draco’s hand a squeeze and moved forward, pulling him beside her. “Be civil,” she warned under her breath.

“No promises,” Draco replied flippantly.

Hermione had hoped she would have a little more time to figure out how to break the news of her love of the Malfoy heir to her two best friends. Like, another year’s worth of time. She scanned the crowd around the Weasleys for Harry Potter’s head of raven hair, but found nothing. She stopped right in front of Ron and dropped Draco’s hand to pull the red head into a tight embrace.

“Oh, Ron! What happened to you? How did you get out of Academy so early? Why didn’t you write me!” she was speaking the questions quickly, her nerves overtaking her once more.

Ron pulled away and backed up, brushing a curl over her shoulder so he could kiss her cheek. “‘Mione…I’ve missed you,” he whispered, glaring over her shoulder at the pale man who was currently killing him with his eyes alone.

“I missed you, too! Both of you! Where’s Harry?” she asked, stepping away from him fully.

“Harry’s still at Academy…Hermione can I talk to you, alone?” he asked, and he grabbed her upper arm gently in an effort to pull her away from the third part of the awkward equation.

“Get your hands off my witch, Weasel,” Draco warned menacingly and Hermione smiled slightly despite herself.

Ron glared at him once more but dropped his hand. It was at this point that Molly Weasley noticed the tension building as she looked from Ron to Draco, to Hermione in between them. “Oh, dear…why don’t we get back to the Burrow?”

“Actually, Hermione and I have somewhere we need to be. Our belongings are currently on the Hogwarts Express,” Draco replied in a clipped manner.

“Draco,” Hermione said tenderly. “I owe him an explanation…we can retrieve our things and Apparate back with the others.”

“You owe him nothing, Granger. Or do you not remember crying over him when you saw him splayed across the Daily Prophet with that Auror witch?” he asked forcefully.

Ron looked taken aback and then guilty, the tips of his ears turning pink once more. Hermione sighed. “He’s been my best friend for eight years. I can’t just abandon him and his family. Not to mention, if that had never happened…would we be here?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow at him.

Draco’s face turned wickedly devilish for a brief moment. “You’re right…perhaps I should thank him for being such a prick? I did get you in the end, didn’t I? Always the winner,” he asked, taking her hips and kissing her lips, a show of dominance.

Ron cleared his throat. “That is quite enough. Let’s get back to the Burrow. Mum has made a spread fit for a royal party.”

After retrieving their belongings, the couple Apparated to the Burrow, the jovial sounds of a party already well under way. “Take my hand,” Hermione instructed. “They’ve got wards against…well…”

“Death Eaters? Dark Marks? Malfoys? Though…the three are synonymous,” Draco supplied, trying to lighten the mood with his dark humor.

Hermione lifted a corner of her mouth in response and took his hand to step across the wards. “The wards recognize malicious intent, so you may have gotten across alone…but I couldn’t be sure you’re intentions against Ron are all pure.”

“I would like to turn him into the weasel he is,” he said with a laugh.

“Okay, my little ferret. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she laughed, lacing her fingers with his.

“That was one time!” he groaned. “You get turned into a ferret one time and you never live it down.”

Once through the wards, the couple stood and simply looked forward. Hermione looked at Draco and saw that he was staring at the mismatched house with a look of disgusted disbelief. “Even their home is shabby,” he said.

Hermione elbowed him in the ribs. “I thought you were broken of your old beliefs.”

“My dear, I no longer care about blood status. But I will always be wealthy,” he said, kissing her hand as he eyed her sheepishly.

“And arrogant,” she countered. “Come on then. Let’s get this over with.”

“Yes…let’s. That way I can get over you in our little bed in London,” he grinned cheekily.

She swatted his arm and pulled him forward, though her heart was pounding at the thought of having the dreaded conversation with her red headed friend. Draco seemed to notice her hesitation and kissed her temple. “It’s going to be okay, love. I’ll behave. I promise,” he said, his voice soothing her instantly.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

They rounded the corner and walked into the back gardens, where Mrs. Weasley had put together three long tables, filled to the brim with various foods, snacks, drinks and desserts. The Weasleys and other members of the Order were mussing about, picking at the food, laughing merrily and enjoying each other’s company. That is, until they saw Hermione Granger clutching Draco Malfoy’s hand. Everyone went dead silent for a moment as they stared. Hermione felt self-conscious, not because she was embarrassed by the man beside her, but because she was embarrassed by everyone else’s reaction toward him. She was ashamed and felt sympathetic for her love.

Thank Merlin for Arthur Weasley. The patriarch of the Weasley brood stepped through the crowd of witches and wizards and stepped forward with a wide smile. “Hermione! Draco! Congratulations on graduating. Come on, grab something to eat!” he leaned a little closer so only the two could hear, “Molly will be highly offended if you don’t have three of everything, my boy!”

“I heard that, Arthur Weasley!” his wife admonished, smacking him with a dishtowel as she stepped in behind him. “Ignore him,” she said, taking Draco by the crook of his arm toward the food tables.

He looked over his shoulder at her, an uncomfortable and unsure look on his face. Hermione grinned and made a shooing motion with her hands as she gave him an encouraging nod. She turned to Mr. Weasley. “Thank you for being kind to him.”

Mr. Weasley smiled genuinely at her as they watched his wife trying to force-feed the thin man. “What he did for Neville Longbottom, for Frank and Alice…it was noble. And if he is good enough for you, he’s good enough for us. It’s not going to be easy. But if he can make the effort to rid himself of his prejudices, perhaps it is time we did as well.”

“You don’t know how much that means to me. And to him, though he may never say it,” she warned.

Mr. Weasley smiled. “The Malfoys are a proud bunch. Hermione, don’t expect Ron and Harry to just accept him. The rivalry between them went deeper than just a schoolyard tiff. Think of how long it took for you to accept that he wasn’t the same boy who fought on the opposite side of the War. And that was with you seeing him every day. But Ron will eventually come around. He loves you too much to lose you.”

Mr. Weasley’s words left Hermione’s heart feeling heavy, though she knew he was correct. Her two friends were going to take longer to warm up to him. Her eyes scanned the yard and found Ron sitting with Charlie, glaring in the direction of her wizard. She sighed and made her way toward them. Charlie was sipping from a frosted mug of orange-spiced mead and had his usual carefree grin plastered across his face. “Why, Miss Granger! Or shall I start calling you Mrs. Malfoy?” Charlie teased good naturedly, earning a murderous look from his youngest brother.

”’Hermione’ would be just fine, Charles,” she grinned, extending her hand to Ron to help him stand. “Let’s go inside and talk.”

Ron tore his eyes away from the towheaded beacon currently taste testing the three different kinds of ambrosia salad that Mrs. Weasley had prepared. He took Hermione’s hand and carefully maneuvered himself into a standing position. Charlie handed him his crutches from beside the table. Hermione tried to ignore Draco’s sharp gaze on her as she went into the warm house she’d called her second home for so long.

They settled into the worn couches in the living room, Ron sitting with his leg propped up on the coffee table and Hermione sitting with her back against the arm rest, her feet curled under her as she face him. “Can you please explain to me how in the bloody hell you got mixed up with Draco sodding Malfoy?”

Hermione sighed, already exhausted from the conversation that hadn’t even begun just yet. “Why don’t you go first…Your answers will probably be much less involved.”

Ron narrowed his eyes at her. “I got injured and spent a month in St. Mungo’s, though even mum didn’t know because I was undercover. As soon as I finished the task, I realized that being an Auror wasn’t for me. We spent so long fighting Voldemort…I just don’t have it in me to chase the bad guys forever, you know?” he asked, looking at the floor in shame.

Hermione pursed her lips. “Of course I know. I tried to warn you of that a year ago when Kingsley brought the letters.”

“I wish I would have listened to you,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“So what will you do now?” she asked, suddenly anxious for her friend who had dropped out of his one chance and had failed to complete his NEWTs.

“George needs help running the shop. He wants to open a second shop in France eventually, so I need to learn how to maintain everything so I can run the shop in Diagon Alley.”

Hermione smiled at the news—she knew George needed a companion after the devastating loss of his twin. “How’s Harry?” she asked, curious about the other third of their trio.

“He’s doing well…really well. Shacklebolt might cut his apprenticeship in half and let him out in spring instead of fall. But you know Harry. He always had a knack for Defense Against the Dark Arts…he thrives off of it all,” Ron told her with a shrug. “Now, can we get back to the ferret in the room? How…? Why…?”

Hermione was quiet for a moment and bit her lip as she thought about what to say. “Draco is nothing like we thought for so long.”

“So he’s not arrogant, garish, a Death Eater?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Ex-Death Eater. And he only joined the ranks because he was threatened into it, essentially. Voldemort threatened to kill not only him, but his entire family. And he was forced into killing Dumbledore because he failed to complete a deed during a revel,” she defended, not wanting to divulge too much information.

“And you believe him, why? Hermione, I hunted his type down. I studied their mindset, the way they operate and think,” he argued. “He’s manipulative and a smooth talking liar.”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I believe him.”

“When did this start?” he questioned.

When had it started? Was it July, when she’d first laid eyes on him after the War, broken and angry? Was it September, when he carried her into the rain and held her until her flashbacks had ceased? Was it October, when he pleaded with her not to give up on him after the Masquerade Ball? Was it December, when he accompanied her to her parents? Or was it March, when she’d first lain with him and felt more love than she thought one heart capable of? “Hermione?” Ron asked, waving a hand to break her reverie.

“July,” she replied.

Ron looked as though she’d slapped him. “July? What do you mean July? We were together in August!”

“Not like that. We weren’t officially together until last Christmas. But…our story starts in July,” she replied, gnawing her lip once more.

“Explain to me how your story starts in July, if we were still together in August…like, together together,” he demanded, his ears turning pink.

“Draco is…incredibly broken, angry, arrogant…”

Ron scoffed.

“Sometimes, Ron, things aren’t always so Dark and Light. There is a shade of grey in between. And that’s where Draco resides, where he’s always been. He took no pleasure in being a Death Eater. He feared for his life every day. Ron…he was tortured. By Voldemort, by his aunt, by his own father,” Hermione wiped a tear that fell as she thought about the beautifully fractured man.

“Last July, we started our counseling. We had to tell our stories and our triggers. I was his trigger—my scent, more specifically. When he’d smell my perfume, he’d have flashbacks to Easter. It was hard for him to accept that he couldn’t have changed what happened in the Manor. I’m positive he still hasn’t forgiven himself for his inaction—”

“I don’t forgive him for his inactions,” Ron interceded.

Hermione glared at him. “You should. You have no idea what his life was like, Ron. It was easy for us—we were born on this side of the War. He…he had to fight from the other side.”

“How does this equate to a relationship?” Ron asked impatiently.

“We fought…pretty severely for months. We were Head Boy and Head Girl and we shared a living space—”

“Is McGonagall off her rocker? He could have hurt you!”

Hermione put her hand up. “But he didn’t. As I was saying, we fought some pretty good fights that would make our,” she wiggled a finger between herself and the red head, “fights seem like child’s play. But Theo kept encouraging me to not give up on him, that he would come around.”

“Theo Nott?”

Hermione nodded and Ron sat back and blew air out of his lips. “Merlin, Hermione, you stumbled into the snake den!”

“Theo is a fantastic man as well. I really think, once you get to know him, you’ll really like him…and Draco.”

“Fat chance. So, somehow Malfoy proved himself. How?”

“He offered to go with me to visit my parents’ home in exchange for attending his mother’s gala with him,” she shrugged.

“I saw the photos,” was all he said at first. And then, “I would have gone with you to your parents’ house. You just had to ask!”

Hermione shook her head. “That’s the thing. I didn’t have to ask him. I didn’t even know I wanted someone to go with me. But he offered. So we went home to London. He…decorated a Christmas tree for me,” her voice was breaking as she recounted the sweet gesture, made by a man that wasn’t hers yet at the time. “We stayed in London for the entirety of the winter break. That’s when we got together, officially.”

She reached into the collar of her dress and pulled out the signet ring that always rested there. Ron’s eyes went wide. “He gave you his ring? Do you understand what that even means, Hermione?!”

She nodded. “Theo explained it to me.”

“So…what? You’re just going to live every Pureblood girl’s dream? And what of his parents? Will they ever accept you?” he asked, his voice forceful once more.

“I’ll never have to face Lucius. And Narcissa is…coming around. Slowly but surely. She loves Draco too much not to,” she replied simply.

“And what are you going to do now? Now that school has ended? He can’t even walk down the street without a hundred cameras going off! A scathing article or ten in the next day’s paper!”

Hermione pursed her lips once more. “Ronald, I don’t care about what writers like Rita Skeeter think or write about. And if you must know, we’re going to open a sanctuary for magical creatures, including House elves…in America…” she said the last part so quietly she couldn’t hear it over the nervous ringing in her ears.

“America?!” Ron roared. “You’re allowing a Death Eater to remove you from the country?”

“He was going to America anyway to attend an academy for…his preferred occupation. He was going to open the sanctuary either way. I agreed to accompany him. I want to accompany him.”

“All for spew?” Ron shouted incredulously.

“It’s not spew. It’s the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare,” came Draco’s harsh drawl from the doorway. “And unlike you, I support her interests wholeheartedly.”

Draco moved into the room and came to stand behind Hermione, placing his hands on her shoulders so he could use his thumbs to work the knots in her shoulders. Ron stared up at his longtime rival and bit his tongue. It would do him no good to yell and scream and break things—Hermione’s choice was made. “I support Hermione,” he said quietly.

“If that were true she would be with you and not me,” Draco snapped.

Hermione put her hand over her shoulder to tap his hip, a motion that told him to stop his verbal sparring. She could see that Ron wasn’t going to retaliate and she knew what that meant—he agreed with her. “Ron…we were never right for each other. We danced around one another for years because we thought it would be easy. But you know as well as I do…it wasn’t right.”

Ron leaned forward on his thighs as he dropped his injured leg to the ground. He sighed a long exhale of breath and looked over at his friend and her newfound love. “I know. It took me being away for a long while to understand it, ‘Mione. When I thought about how I love you…it wasn’t romantic. I tried to picture myself having children with you, a home with you, growing old with you. And…as much as I love you…I couldn’t. I don’t regret…what we did last summer,” he averted his eyes and Hermione felt Draco’s hands tighten on her shoulders slightly. “But I realized I don’t want it to happen again. You are a beautiful, bright witch with a future in changing the world. I’m…Ron. You’re the best friend I have, but I know. I know it wouldn’t have worked.”

Hermione’s eyes brimmed with tears. She had been so afraid that is heart would be broken, unsure of the full extent of his feelings for her. Her heart was so thankful that he felt the same. That was until he opened his mouth again. “But I wouldn’t choose him for you.”

“What does that mean, Weasley?” Draco asked, his hands still on Hermione’s shoulders.

“It means, Malfoy, that I don’t think you are right for her. You are a Dark wizard, trained in the Dark Arts. There will come a day, when your Darkness will hurt her, whether by your hand or another’s. And when that day comes, I will kill you myself,” Ron finished, giving the blond a glare that could cut through steel.

Hermione internally groaned. Though she could feel Draco’s response welling inside of him, she knew Draco worried about just that thing happening. It was the number one thing that haunted him every day. “Ron—”

“I have devoted myself, wholly and completely, to Hermione. I would lay down my life if it meant she could have a minute more to live. I am going to marry her and with that, will come certain…protections of an ancient Pureblood variety. Someone would have to kill me in order to get to her and I am fully prepared to fight and kill anyone who tries,” Draco spat through clenched teeth, stepping around Hermione toward Ron.

Ron bristled but didn’t back down as Draco leaned right into his face, looking more menacing than Hermione had ever seen. “And you would do well to keep your thoughts on me and our relationship to yourself. I will not have your prejudices hurting Hermione or causing her reason to shed one tear. You don’t like me? Fine. I don’t honestly give a fuck. But she is your friend and her feelings should come before your own, so you will treat her as such. If she sheds one more tear over your foul disposition, I will kill you myself,” Draco finished, mirroring Ron’s earlier words.

Ron was silent as he stared into his rivals face. “What do we have here?” Charlie asked as he and Ginny entered the room.

“Just a friendly chit-chat between old school chums,” Draco said forcefully, backing away from Ron.

“Well…Ginny’s told me you’ve got a Draconus miniscura? I’d love to chat you up about a small thunder of miniscuras we’ve come across in Romania,” Charlie offered, handing the blond a frosted mug of centaur-made beer.

Draco took the glass and shot Ron one more glare before planting a kiss on top of Hermione’s head of curls before he followed Charlie back into the yard. “His name’s Eugene…got a bit of an eye infection right now…I brewed a potion…” Draco’s voice faded out as they walked out of earshot.

“Well, he certainly is pleasant,” Ron said, a deep scowl on his face.

Hermione shoved him with her foot. “You started that, Ronald Weasley.”

“He started it way back in first year when he first let on that he was a slimy git,” he mumbled.

Ginny let out a loud, boisterous laugh as she took her seat across from them on the other couch. “He really isn’t that bad, Ron. And he treats our ‘Mione like an absolute queen…or I’m sorry, what is it he calls you every night…a goddess?”

Ron shot his sister a glare as Hermione blushed and fought a small smile. “It varies…sometimes he calls me his little minx…”

“I’ve got to get out of here…damn Harry Potter for not being here,” Ron said, retrieving his crutches to make his way into the yard.

Hermione watched as he left and then burst into a fit of giggles. Ginny grinned and came to join her on the couch, placing her head on the brunette’s lap. Hermione ran her hand through the red heads long locks and she sighed contentedly. “‘Mione…what do you think of Theodore Nott?”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…do you like him? Is he a good person?” she asked, opening her eyes to stare up at her friend.

Hermione’s hand paused in Ginny’s hair for a moment as she thought about Theo. She resumed her raking and shrugged. “Theo is a great man. If I hadn’t gone for Draco, Theo definitely would have been my second choice. Why?”

“He asked me to dinner this weekend,” she replied.

“I thought he was with Daphne Greengrass?” Hermione asked.

“Apparently that ended a few days ago…she wasn’t interested in the whole marriage and children thing,” Ginny said.

“Are you?”

“Not right away…the manager of the Holyhead Harpies wants me to come in for a second try out and I’m going to take him up on that offer. But eventually…yeah? I’d like to have a big family, like I had.”

“What about Harry?”

Ginny frowned. “A year is a long time apart, especially when that year is spent without any contact whatsoever. Ron brought me a letter Harry wrote to me…he wants to focus on his career for a while. Says it was too hard to concentrate when you all were hunting Horcruxes when he was thinking about me all the time. Told me to move on,” the red head sniffled slightly.

“Don’t cry, Gin. I’m sure Harry only meant it to benefit you,” Hermione said, running her fingers slowly over the auburn locks.

“It’s okay, ‘Mione. It’s okay, you know? I will always love him—he was my first. But, I can’t hold onto that forever,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

Hermione was quiet for a moment. “So…Theo Nott, huh?”

Ginny smiled widely, the hurt still a faint glimmer in her eye. “Well…he is rather fit, isn’t he?”

Hermione thought about Theo—he was large statured but more a gentle giant than anything. He had a shock of dark hair and bright blue eyes like the ocean at summer. He had his own demons, but he had a huge heart and was loyal to a fault. “He is pretty good looking,” Hermione allowed.

“I mean…he’s no Draco Malfoy, but he’ll do,” Draco said from the doorway, his cheeks pink from the alcohol he’d ingested in such a short time.

Ginny didn’t even bother to sit up, only turned her head toward him. “Thought I smelled something…must be the ferret.”

“Ginevra. Or shall I call you Big Red, as Theo does?” he teased and she turned red.

“Shove off Malfoy, it’s my turn with your woman,” Ginny replied, closing her eyes and snapping her fingers with a gesture toward her head.

Hermione laughed and began rubbing her hair once more. “Guess you got told,” Hermione said.

Draco leaned on the door frame and crossed his arms. “I’ll spare you a Theodore Nott-esque joke about a ménage-a-trois, and just say that if you start calling him your Teddy Bear, I’m fucking out. I will not hesitate to hex you both.”

Ginny laughed heartily. “Oh, Merlin. If I ever get that cutesy, I’ll hex myself.”

“Speaking of overgrown Slytherin oafs who are more than worthy of being any witch’s betrothed and is in desperate need of a witch who will love him as he deserves, I was just getting ready to do a fire call with him. Charlie told me to add a sprig of thyme to Eugene’s eye drops and it’ll clear that infection right up,” Draco said, gesturing toward the fireplace.

Ginny sat up and straightened her skirt over her thighs. “I’ll call him. Why don’t you two go up to your room and get changed?”

Draco raised an eyebrow and looked at Hermione. “Gin, we’re not staying here. We’ve got a room reserved at the Lady of London.”

Ginny laughed. “Hermione. Do you really think mum is going to let you leave? She’s got to fatten that one up,” she said, gesturing toward Draco’s lithe frame.

Hermione bit her lip and looked at the ground. Draco groaned. “Granger. No. We have plans.”

“Oh, gross! Though…a silencing charm and a cushioning charm on our old wood floors will be more than enough to keep away prying ears. You should be fine…unless you plan on swinging from the rafters or something,” Ginny replied.

“Damn, there went our weekend,” Hermione said, snapping her fingers.

“Oh, Gods, ‘Mione!” Ginny laughed.

Draco gave Hermione a look that clearly said he had no desire to stay. “Please?” she mouthed. “It’ll be nice to be around a loving family before we go to Australia.”

Draco’s face softened. “Your parents love you. They’ll understand,” he said, gently brushing her curls aside to place a hand on her neck.

“If you’re going to start shagging, can you at least make it up the stairs before you mount her?” Ginny asked.

“She is the female Theo, isn’t she?” Draco groaned.

“You have no idea,” Hermione replied, brushing his lips with her own.

He sighed. “So which one is our room?”

“Oh, Molly and Arthur would never let us stay in the same room, unwed. You’ll share a room with George and I’ll share with Gin.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Granger?” Draco asked, groaning with irritation, preemptive sexual frustration and the loneliness he’d feel without his witch in his arms every night.

It was going to be a very long week.

o-o-o


	2. Chapter 2

Ginny entered the kitchen where Draco and Hermione were sitting with Mrs. Weasley, having a light breakfast. Charlie, George and Ron had already made their way into the back yard and George was trying to help a disabled Ron mount a broom. Draco was watching the comedy from the kitchen bay window.

“You coming, Malfoy?” Ginny asked, grabbing a piece of toast from the center of the table.

“Ginny, eat something!” Mrs. Weasley admonished.

“I’m not hungry,” Ginny replied, skipping out of the door. “I’ve got to run drills!”

That perked Draco’s ears up. “Drills?”

“She got a call back for the Holyhead Harpies,” Hermione smiled, proud of her friend.

“Hot damn,” Draco said, slamming his palm down on the table. “I told you she’d be a professional one day! I knew that man was scouting her!”

Mrs. Weasley smiled at his enthusiasm and didn’t bother to correct his language. “Why don’t you go out with them?” she asked him.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek twice, his long time nervous habit. They’d been there three days already, and Molly had found everyone something to keep occupied inside, generally keeping Ron and Draco separated. Draco complained to Hermione about having to do household chores in a home he didn’t even live in, when in his own home he had never lifted a finger. But secretly, inside, he was grateful for the menial work—it meant the Weasley parents accepted him as an equal. He’d worried for so long that no one would accept him because of his past indiscretions. The younger Weasley boys may not be his biggest fans, but Charlie, Ginny and their parents were treating him as though he were human, not just a Death Eater.

“I don’t think I’d be well received out there in the lion’s den,” he shrugged, turning to take a bite of his porridge.

“Would you go if I did?” Hermione asked him, nudging his arm with hers.

Draco looked up, his spoon halfway to his mouth. “You hate flying!”

“Yes, well…I wouldn’t be much help to Ginny, but I could hover in the background,” she offered.

“You don’t have to do that,” he replied, tucking into his breakfast once more. “We could stay inside and read.”

“Come on, Malfoy. Don’t be a coward—Accio Draco’s broom!” she called and they heard his locked school trunk rustle against the wooden floors and the locks chink open.

A few moments later a tiny version of his broom flew into Hermione’s outstretched hand. She tapped her wand against it and it enlarged to full size. She shoved it into his hand and nodded toward the back garden. “Come on. I know you want to.”

Draco sighed—he really did want to fly again. But he wasn’t sure flying with them would be wise. Hermione stood and Mrs. Weasley gave him a kind and encouraging smile. Hermione held his hand and led him outside. “Have room for two more?” she called out.

Everyone looked up at them. “Oh, this ought to be good,” Ginny said, grinning wickedly as she polished her broom handle with an old dirty cloth.

“Merlin’s beard,” George mumbled.

George stared at him blankly and Ron glared. “What do you want, Malfoy? Come to see how the Weasley family does it?” Charlie called, his teasing all in fun.

“Oh…I’ve seen how these two do it,” Draco gestured to Ron and Ginny. “She’s a right formidable Chaser…same can’t be said for Ronald’s Keeping skills.”

Ron glowered at him and dismounted his broom. “I made the Gryffindor team!”

“Yes with your friend as Captain and your best friend Confunding your opposition,” the blond replied with a shrug.

“Oh, ouch,” Charlie said, pretending to be stung by that comment.

“Now, now, boys, let’s all play nice,” Ginny said, putting on her best impression of her mother trying to split up her elder brothers during their childhood.

“He only knows how to play dirty. Once a cheat, always a cheat,” Ron replied.

George was watching the show unfold with a look of mild annoyance. Charlie was grinning openly, far too entertained to admonish anyone seriously. Ginny rolled her eyes toward Hermione, who was standing behind Draco with her hands on her hips, wearily watching the scene, hoping neither would get out of control.

Draco stood still, his broom in his hand and just watched the youngest Weasley brother with a look of irritation. Ron was glaring at him with a look of disgust. Neither moved for a moment until Ron pulled his shirt up and over his head. Draco looked over the strange faded pink scars that ribboned around Weasley’s arms and chest. Ron smirked. “I’ve shown you mine. Now how about you show me yours?” he challenged.

“Ronald!” both Ginny and Hermione screeched.

Draco glared at him as though his looks alone would set the man on fire. He handed Hermione his broom and reached down to the hem of his shirt. He hesitated for only a moment, as Hermione was shouting his name behind him. “Draco! Draco Lucius! This is ridiculous! Ronald, I am going to hex you into next year!”

Draco tossed his shirt aside and watched as Ron’s face fell momentarily as he took in the sight of Draco’s battered and War torn body. He took a step forward toward Ron, who refused to back away, instead putting his chin up in Hermione-like defiance. Ginny turned pink and raised an eyebrow as she turned to look away from her friend’s lover. Charlie and George flanked Ron, each putting a hand on his shoulders as the man tried to balance on his good leg.

“Now I’ve shown you, hippogriff got your tongue, Weasel?” Draco said as Ginny came around his other side to stand beside Hermione.

Ron simply stared at him, his eyes wandering over the long Sectumsempra scar, the cluster of circular Cruciatus scars that he could no doubt recognize now that he’d been through training, finally landing on the vermillion outline of a Dark Mark along his inner left forearm. “Merlin’s fucking beard, Malfoy. You look like shit,” George said, cutting the tension.

“This is what following the Dark Lord looks like. You’re so sure I willingly joined the Death Eaters. Does this,” he ran a hand over his chest and the many scars torn through his skin, “look like I was a willing participant?”

“You reap what you sow,” Ron said with a shrug as Draco took another step forward, close enough to have to look down at the shorter man.

Hermione flicked her wrist and both men flew back. “I am so sick of this!”

“‘Mione…my leg!” Ron groaned, leaning forward to grab his casted leg.

“The two of you are ridiculous!” Hermione said, looking between the two. “And it’s driving me crazy.”

Ginny stepped forward and helped Draco stand as George and Charlie helped Ron. “If the two of you are done with your little cock fight, we can start our drills. Malfoy, you play the second Beater. We don’t need a Seeker. And for Merlin’s sake, you two idiots put your shirts on!”

Both men stood and gave one final look at each other and put their shirts on. Draco pulled his long sleeved cotton shirt over his head and arms and Hermione gave him a look. Draco averted his eyes, agitated that Weasley had gotten to him so badly. Now Hermione was disappointed in him.

He picked up his broom from where Hermione had dropped it. “Come on, Red. Let’s do this,” he said to the Weasley sister.

Charlie broke into a wide grin again and George helped Ron mount his broom once more. “Coming, Hermione?”

“No, she’s not much on flying,” Draco replied for her as he looked down at her. “Why don’t you go read in the garden, love? I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got this.”

Hermione looked at him, a flash of relief on her face. “I’ll just be in the swing…don’t kill each other,” she said, giving them both a meaningful look.

“I’ll behave…but I expect to be rewarded later,” Draco whispered, kissing her forehead.

Hermione laughed and swatted his chest. “You still have to make it up to me for that little display you both just put on.”

“He started it,” Draco pointed out, kissing her lips.

“Okay, okay, we get it. You’re wildly in love with one another. Now can you get your arse on the broom and a bat in your hand, Malfoy?” Ginny called, quickly taking off into the air.

o-o-o

The tension between Draco and Ron had tampered down to a tolerable level—a snarky comment here or there and adamant ignoring of each other for the majority of their time together. Draco ate meals alongside the family, and the rest of them tried their best to include him in their conversation. He put on his Malfoy charm and could drag a laugh out of them every now and then, downplaying his family’s wealth and prior upper class status as much as possible.

George was a sullen character, his humor turning dark after losing his twin and Draco could appreciate that. Ginny was friendly to him because of his relationship with Hermione and his fraternal loyalty to Theodore Nott. The Weasley parents were kind and appreciative of his work on the CCD. Charlie was fascinating and his knowledge of dragons was extensive. Draco sat out on the back deck with Charlie most nights after Hermione had gone to bed, cold beers in hand, just discussing magical creatures and his travels in Eastern Europe. Draco liked him most out of the bunch.

They sat outside on the back deck on Draco and Hermione’s last night at the Burrow. Charlie was gearing up to head out for Romania once more, his own vacation coming to an end. “Once you get the sanctuary open in America, we’ll make the necessary arrangements to get the miniscura’s into your care. There’s seven now, but one is weak…I don’t know if he’ll make it. But the temperate climate in New Orleans will be more beneficial than the cold of Romania’s winters,” Charlie told him, sipping from his drink.

“Eugene will be ecstatic. He’s never met another dragon,” Draco replied. “And Theo added the thyme to the eye drops—cleared it right up. Thank you for the tip.”

“Not a problem,” Charlie shrugged.

They were quiet for a few minutes, just enjoying the cold drinks and the warm night breeze. The wind blew through the trees and the boughs rubbed together, creating a haunting cacophony of sounds that lulled Draco into relaxation. Charlie went into the house to retrieve two fresh drinks and handed one to Draco. He cleared his throat. “You love her, huh?” he asked and Draco knew he was referring to Hermione.

“More than anything,” Draco replied, looking down at where his bare feet were crossed.

“Hermione is…a special breed of witch,” Charlie began, pausing to take a sip. “She’s fierce, that girl. She has no fear and will run head first into a situation to save her friends. No matter the sacrifices on her part.”

Draco thought about her part in the War, what she’d sacrificed to join Potter on his mad dash to collect Horcruxes. He hoped to rectify at least part of that situation in the next week when they visited Australia. “She’s the most incredible witch I have ever met,” he agreed.

“She deserves the utmost respect and love. Her life hasn’t been the easiest,” Charlie told him.

Draco looked out into the yard, staring out at the swampy marsh that surrounded the Burrow. “She deserves more than me, is what you’re saying.”

Charlie shook his head. “No. The exact opposite, actually. You’re exactly what she needs.”

“How do you figure?”

“You love her. That much is evident. You let her be independent, but you’re equally protective of and devoted to her. You can match her wit and intelligence much better than my brother, if we’re being honest. And you can provide her with a life she wants to live. You support her interests and have the funding to make her dreams a reality. We were wrong about you,” Charlie admitted.

Draco looked at him incredulously for a moment before leaning forward on his thighs, both hands wrapped around the bottle between his knees. “I’ve done a lot of horrible things in my life, Charlie. Inexcusable things.”

Charlie nodded and waved his hand dismissively. “And you’re paying the price. You received your sentence and you’re carrying it out. You can’t keep holding on to things that you did in the past. None of us are foolish enough to believe you took the Mark as a joyful participant. Especially not at such a young age. Well…except maybe Ron. But Ron is blinded by the rivalry of your youth.”

“Why are all of you being so nice to me? I was a Death Eater. Death Eaters killed your brother,” Draco said in a small voice as he looked down at the ground.

Charlie sighed. “You didn’t kill Fred. Your family didn’t kill Fred. You were already on our side by that point. Fred’s death was…” he swallowed hard, “a blow to us all. But he was a good man who loved his family and had intelligence enough to know when to forgive someone. George has a sweet spot for Hermione, and even he’s accepted you.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. His Hermione was truly loved by this entire family. And because of their loyalty to her, they were extending an olive branch to him. The thought of it was overwhelming. “I think maybe I should go up to bed…we’re heading out to Australia and I’ve got to meet Shacklebolt at the Ministry early.”

“We’ll talk more about the miniscura’s in a few months,” Charlie told him, taking the final swig of his beer. “And, Malfoy, if you hurt her…you’ve got six Weasley children who will have your arse.”

Draco laughed and nodded, tossing his bottle in the garbage pail and heading inside, leaving Charlie to sit back in his chair and rest his head against the back. Mrs. Weasley was still up, sitting in her housecoat and slippers on the sofa, knitting a sweater of some kind. “Everything all right, dear?” she asked him, glancing up briefly from her knitting hands.

“Fine. I’m just going to say good night to Hermione and go to bed,” he replied, giving her a nod and heading up the stairs.

He knocked lightly on Ginny’s door and heard the redhead respond. He stepped in and Ginny was reading a Quidditch magazine by wand light. Hermione was fast asleep. “I just wanted to say goodnight,” he whispered and Ginny waved her hand in Hermione’s direction, turning her attention back to her magazine.

Draco padded softly to the bed and leaned down. Her face was bathed in moonlight from outside the window and he smiled as he pushed a curl over her shoulder. His witch. His beautiful, fierce, brave, selfless witch. He pulled her blankets up higher and bent forward to place a gentle kiss on her temple. “Love you, Granger,” he whispered though he knew she was fast asleep.

He turned around and gave Ginny a wave of thanks before exiting. Draco could hear voices coming from Ron’s room and stopped when he heard his own name. He put his back against the wall and stood stark still. From the crack in Ron’s door, he could hear the hushed voices of both Ron and George. “…of course I love her. But I wasn’t about to let him know that. I can only imagine Malfoy’s smug face when he found out he actually beat me at yet another thing in life. He got my girl.”

What? Hadn’t Weasley just told Hermione that he didn’t feel anything for her more than a platonic friendship? George spoke. “You fucked up by going to Auror training. You should have listened to her and went back to school for a year…you’d probably still be together.”

“Thanks, George,” Ron replied bitterly. “You think I don’t think about that every day? Every time I see him with her?”

“What are you going to do about it then?” George asked quietly.

Ron was silent for so long that Draco thought he was talking too low to hear. Draco’s mind was racing. What would the Weasel do to try and win back the love of his life? Finally, he spoke. “Nothing. I’ve never seen her like this—she looks happier than I’ve ever seen her. And…fuck…he really seems to love her back,” Ron’s voice cracked.

Draco felt for the Weasley in that moment. He couldn’t imagine losing Hermione and even trying to picture his life without her in it made him sick to his stomach. But here was another man who loved her, willing to back down in order to make her happy. Draco had never held anything but contempt for the man, but suddenly he felt a wave of respect for him. He was bowing out gracefully—something Draco didn’t think he could do given the same circumstances.

Draco didn’t need to hear anymore. He slinked back to George’s room and stripped down to his boxers and a t-shirt. He slid into his bed and stared up at the ceiling. “There will come a day, when your Darkness will hurt her, whether by your hand or another’s.” Weasley had said that to him on their first day at the Burrow.

Draco stared blankly at the ceiling above him for a long while, a barrage of thoughts hitting him like the Hogwarts Express. The phrase had rung through Draco’s mind repeatedly the entire week. He feared that Weasley was right. He knew it would never be by his own hand—the thought of raising a hand or wand to harm Hermione in anyway made his stomach turn. He’d only ever seen his father hit his mother once, and the genuine remorse that had pained Lucius Malfoy for weeks after was more than Draco could bear.

But so many days he feared retribution for his part in the War—a widow or child of a murdered Muggle-born coming to claim his blood for their loss. Draco was trained in the mind of Dark wizards, he knew the twisted way they thought. Only someone who had turned Dark in the face of tragedy could harm someone else, but he knew the sick, demented ways in which they would choose to harm him. They’d claim Hermione first—hurt him psychologically and emotionally. Perhaps they’d take her life before his own. Or he’d kill himself before they got the satisfaction.

Ancient Pureblood marriage rites dictated additional protections be placed on the bride during the handfasting ceremony. If someone wanted to physically harm her, they would find it impossible while he remained alive. And though his fierce little witch could handle her own against most elder witches and wizards, he’d be damned if he would have her fight to save his sorry arse.

Draco rolled onto his side to stare at the wall when he heard the remaining twin enter the room. The logical part of his brain was screaming at Draco to get up, to leave her here with a family who genuinely loved her. Leave her with a man who loved her, had loved her since adolescence. Ronald Weasley would be good for her. He was one third of their trio and knew her almost as well as Draco did. She would be heartbroken at first, but would move on eventually. She could be happy with Weasley, could have a family with him, could be surrounded by a huge support system with in-laws that wouldn’t shun her or make her feel less worthy.

But could Draco ever be that selfless? He was the most selfish person he knew. It would physically pain him to leave her. It might even kill him. They’d fallen in love so strangely…so slowly and then all at once, knocking the wind out of him with the sheer force of how much her cared for her, how much he loved her. He wanted nothing but the best for his witch—after so many years putting others before herself, she deserved a life of happiness, deserved to receive whatever her heart desired. Right now, her heart desired him, this he knew for certain. But would it always? Would there come a day when she grew tired of the constant bad-mouthing she was bound to receive in every gossip rag upon their betrothal? Would there come a day when he would be swallowed up by his own torment and she would grow weary and leave? Would there come a day when she would look back and wish she’d picked Weasley after all?

Draco felt as though he was suffocating under all of the thoughts swirling through his mind. George’s room was suddenly stifling, despite being clad in only his under things. Draco tossed back the covers and stepped into his discarded slacks. “You all right, mate?” George asked, half-asleep.

“I just need some fresh air,” he mumbled and left the room.

The house was quiet as he quickly stalked through it and out into the night. Charlie had gone inside and the back garden was dark when Draco sat down. He put his elbows on his knees and his face into his hands, his nose between his two index fingers as he rubbed either side of the bridge of his nose and down over his cheeks. Coming here had been a mistake. He and Hermione should have just boarded the Hogwarts Express and stayed in London, as they’d originally planned. Far away from Ronald fucking Weasley.

o-o-o


	3. Chapter 3

Draco hadn’t slept a single wink that night. His mind wouldn’t settle down enough to grace him with slumber. He thought about Hermione, Weasley, Australia, America, any and everything. He’d sat on the deck all night, only going into the home to retrieve a crocheted blanket from the back of the couch when the temperature dropped a little too much to be comfortable.

He had a picture of Hermione clutched in his hands. It was the first one he’d taken of her the week prior, fully clothed and seated on the edge of his bed. She had one ankle crossed behind the other and her hands were folded on her knee. The moving photograph captured her giving him a shy smile and then looking down at the floor in a bashful manner as her cheeks pinkened delightfully. It was so innocent and pure and Hermione. All of the other photos were magically locked in a box that only his touch could open, but this one he kept in his pocket at all times, lest he ever forget how much he loved this dainty little witch.

The sun was rising now, delicate shades of rose and violet playing across the sky just beyond the Weasley’s home. The back door of the home opened and then closed softly and Charlie came to rest next to him. “You’re up early.”

“So are you,” Draco remarked.

“It’s two hours ahead in Romania. It’s nearly seven there, and a week’s not enough to readjust,” Charlie commented, handing Draco a mug of warm coffee. “Have you even slept at all?”

Draco ran a finger over the photograph in his lap and sighed. “No.”

“What’s the problem?”

“What makes you think there’s a problem?” Draco asked, somewhat defensively.

“Well, you haven’t slept all night and you’re touching that photo of Hermione like you might forget what she looks like,” Charlie told him, taking a sip of coffee.

Despite himself, Draco could feel a trust building with Charlie. He reminded him a lot of Theo in some ways, but older and with more practical wisdom. “Your brother is still in love with my witch.”

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. “Well, that’s his problem then, isn’t it?”

Draco looked at Charlie and raised an eyebrow. Ron was his brother—where was his loyalty? Charlie shrugged. “Hermione made her choice and it wasn’t him. Ron is my brother, and I love him and would fight to the death for him or anyone else in this family. But the man can be a bit thick at times. He wasted seven years dancing around her. That was far too long and Hermione grew tired of it. I know she loves him—but strictly platonically. That much has been clear to the rest of us, except maybe my hopeful mother, for far longer than we care to admit.”

“Ron would be a good choice for her. He loves her and has their entire lives, really. And if she married him, she’d get all of you as well. If she marries me, she’ll get my incarcerated father and spiteful mother,” Draco said quietly.

“You’re not going to run away are you? Give up and let my brother win?” Charlie asked.

Draco thought about it for a moment. The idea was tempting, to say the least. “No. I promised Hermione that I would stay until she no longer wished to be with me. That is a promise I intend to keep. I’d rather die than live one day without her love.”

It felt strange to him, speaking so freely to a Weasley. But Charlie was likeable and friendly. “You’re good for her.”

“She often times think the worst of me, even still. And I can’t really say I blame her.”

Charlie wrinkled his brow. “How so?”

Draco was silent a beat before the word vomit began to spew forth. He told Charlie how she had gone to Theo instead of himself to find out Pureblood customs, of the disastrous Valentine’s Day, of how she suspected him of wanting to perform necromancy when he told of his interest in death lore, of how she automatically assumed he would be the one to turn sour when it came to a stand off with Ron. Despite the fact that he knew Hermione loved him, the things he spoke of hurt him deeply. Charlie could see this and kept silent, allowing Draco to get everything off his chest. It felt good to speak of these incidences to someone who knew Hermione, but could be objective about it. Theo would always jump to his defense, but Draco just needed to tell someone else who loved Hermione and could understand.

When he finished, Charlie let out a long whistle. “Merlin, man…look, she loves you deeply. But you’ve got to be a little more forthcoming with her about your thoughts and feelings.”

“She’d think me weak,” Draco protested.

“No. She’d think you human. When she does something harsh or hurtful, call her out on it,” Charlie told him as they stared up at the brightening morning sky.

The dew was wet on the ground and there was a misty fog spreading out over the yard and Draco stared out into it a moment, pensive. “I don’t wish to make her feel bad or guilty. Just to understand.”

“Mate, if there’s one thing I have learned in my twenty-eight years of life, it’s this,” Charlie paused dramatically to drink the remainder of his coffee. “The best sex you will ever have in your life is the result of a bird trying to make up for her wrong-doings.”

Charlie winked and Draco laughed and stood. He stretched and pocketed his photo of Hermione. As he folded the blanket, he looked down at the red head, combing a hand through his messy hair. “Thanks, Weasley. Tell your siblings what we’ve spoken of and I’ll curse you so devastatingly you’ll never have a brood of your own.”

Charlie looked up him with a loud laugh and said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As Draco turned to head inside, Hermione’s frame appeared in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Morning,” she said with a smile and a kiss to Draco’s cheek.

He smiled down at her and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Morning, love. I’m going to head up and shower. We’ve got a lot to accomplish today.”

“Probably wise. Once the others wake, you’ll never get in the bathroom,” she remarked, clutching a warm cup of coffee between her two delicate hands.

o-o-o

Hermione watched Draco’s retreating back as he made his way through the kitchen and disappeared from sight. Mrs. Weasley and he sidestepped one another and she gave Hermione a kind smile as she stepped to the stove to begin breakfast.

When she looked down, Charlie was staring at her. She couldn’t quite read the look on his face. “Is something wrong?”

Charlie sighed. “Why don’t we go sit on the swing?” he motioned toward the swing, nestled behind the hedges.

Hermione gave him a questioning eyebrow and confused look. “Away from prying ears,” he motioned with his thumb at his mother in the kitchen.

What could Charlie Weasley possibly want to say to her? Was it going to be about Ron? About how she should stay clear of Draco? Charlie hadn’t seemed too fazed by Draco’s Dark Mark during he and Ron’s impromptu show down. She followed him over the dewy grass and out into the yard.

He sat on the swing and laid his arm across the back. Hermione sat next to him, her legs tucked beneath her and he gently rocked them. “You have a good man in there,” Charlie began.

Cripes. This was about Ron. “You don’t understand, Charlie—”

“No, Hermione, you don’t understand. He has tried time and again to prove himself to you and you consistently hurt him. He feels no value or worth. And honestly, that’s partially because of you,” Charlie said, and she could tell he was trying to stay level and not come off as demanding or irritated.

“Charlie, Ron is—”

“I’m not talking about Ron,” he said, holding a hand up to silence her.

That simple statement silenced Hermione more than if Charlie had reached over and smacked her. He was sticking up for Draco Malfoy? What had Draco told him? Why had Draco talked to him? When did they become friends? Draco was a private person and she couldn’t see him opening up to anyone other than herself and his two Slytherin friends.

“What do you mean?” she said finally, her voice small.

Charlie stilled his legs a moment as he found his words. When he began rocking them once more, he spoke. “Draco Malfoy has sacrificed much in his life—his innocence, his childhood, his mental state. He did what he believed was right and what he believed needed to be done in order to save his family. While I don’t agree with his choices, I understand them.”

“I understand what he’s sacrificed,” Hermione began, affronted that Charlie would insinuate otherwise.

“No. You don’t,” Charlie said simply. “His sacrifices didn’t end at the Battle of Hogwarts, ‘Mione. They had only just begun—he just didn’t realize it yet.”

Hermione shook her head. “What are you talking about?” she asked him, irritated with his blatant questioning of her love for Draco.

“One example—his family’s blood has been purely magical for over a thousand years. That is an exceptionally long time to have a bloodline remain so pristinely magical. No Muggles, no Muggle-borns, no half-bloods. It doesn’t mean a lot to you or I, but to the Malfoy family, that means everything. And he is sacrificing his family’s name and lineage to be with you. His father’s company deals with a lot of the upper crust Purebloods from all over the world, and when he marries you, that company will take a huge hit. His family will be dragged through the mud and will be shunned from the aristocratic society that built it. His fortune and reputation will take a hit, even more so than when Lucius was put away in Azakaban.”

“He told you this?” she choked out.

Charlie shrugged. “He doesn’t need to. It’s common sense. You haven’t had much experience with people outside of Hogwarts and your stunts in hunting Horcruxes. But I have. I know the people I speak of—aristocratic high society types who thrive on ancient histories. And he knows all too well what he’s sacrificing to be with you. His family’s reputation, his wealth, his relationship with his mother. He just won’t say it.”

“I didn’t think about any of that. I didn’t realize…” she said, feeling as though she’d cry.

“But he does. And he doesn’t care—he still chose you. Not to mention, he puts your thoughts and feelings before his own on a regular basis, it would seem. I haven’t been exposed to the two of you together except this week, but it would seem to me that he honestly just wants for you to be happy—regardless of himself. He overheard Ron and George talking—apparently Ron isn’t quite over you. Draco was ready to walk away because he thought Ron would be the better choice.”

Hermione looked at him in horror. “He’s not. Apparently he promised you he wouldn’t. But he stayed out here all night running over that exact scenario in his mind. You made a mistake bringing him here before you had a chance to speak with my brother privately. Ron had no time to digest your relationship before the two were forced to interact and Draco had no time to prepare himself for the attitude he’d receive.”

Hermione looked down at the ground and angrily wiped a tear from her face. Charlie dropped his arm from the back of the swing and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Hermione…your life with Draco is not going to be easy. He worries about his past coming back to harm you, and that is a very real possibility—he is not received well by those outside of the former Voldemort sympathizers and Purebloods. Your picture will appear with horrible articles about him in every magazine. You will be turned away from restaurants and venues, simply because of his perceived part in the War and his last name.”

Hermione thought about this. Charlie was right and that fact made her want to vomit. “Draco is going to experience turmoil and heartache when you go out into the world because of all that. He will feel overwhelming guilt because of the position you will be put in. And he needs someone strong who will build him up and make him feel worthy of something other than the negative backlash. If you keep doubting him and hurting him—however unintentionally—you’re going to destroy him.”

Charlie finally fell silent and Hermione wept into his chest. She’d never felt so terrible in her entire life. She loved Draco fiercely and wholly, this she was certain of. But she had failed to realize that her treatment towards him at times was hurtful and damaging. Hermione thought about what his face looked like when she told him to behave and scolded him for his snarky remarks against Ron. She simply held him to a higher standard than her pigheaded friend, but to Draco it seemed as though she didn’t hold him to any regard whatsoever. She thought about the evident hurt he’d experienced for weeks after Valentine’s Day.

Charlie Weasley wasn’t Theodore Nott. He mirrored everything Theo had said to her the various times they’d spoken about Draco. But Charlie had no prior investment in the feelings of Draco Malfoy. He hadn’t known him his entire life, didn’t have a resounding loyalty to him because of similar circumstances. No. Charlie and Draco grew up polar opposites—one affluently stuffy and shrouded in Darkness and the other poor but loved and surrounded by nothing but Light. Charlie hadn’t actually met Draco until she’d showed with him on her arm a week ago. But, in a week, Draco had managed to win Charlie over. Charlie Weasley. Of all people, Charlie Weasley was going to be Draco’s ally against his brother and Hermione’s terrible attitude. If he, an outsider, could see the value and worth of Draco Malfoy as a good man, why couldn’t she?

Hermione thought she did, but all of the times hurt had entered Draco’s voice over the last six months flooded her. When he asked why she’d gone to Theo to ask questions about Pureblood courting. When she accused him of tricking her on Valentine’s. When he told her that if she didn’t trust him, their relationship would never work. When she insinuated that other people might see their impromptu boudoir photos. When she tossed him backward away from Ron and he thought she was disappointed in him—when she should have stood in front of him and hexed the shit out of Ron for being an arsehole.

His entire life, Draco had been hurt. By his father, physically and mentally, for never being the top student. His father had chosen Voldemort over him time and again. He’d taken the Mark and tried everything in his power to save his family, all for them to be ungrateful in return. By the entirety of Hogwarts upon his return for eighth year. By society, who took no shame in bashing he and his family at every opportunity. And by Hermione, who endlessly—albeit somewhat blindly—treated him as though his feelings didn’t matter. And it took Charlie Weasley to call her out on her shit for her to finally understand.

Draco Malfoy was a good man, trapped within his own mind. She thought of every sweet thing he’d done for her. The decorating of the tree, the sweet way he’d bend down and kiss her when she was engrossed in a book, the Valentine’s Day surprise he’d meant to be special that she’d ruined, the way he made love to her tenderly, the way he cared for her when she fell ill, the fact that he was going with her to Australia to meet parents that, once their memories had been restored would not think highly of him based solely on the conversations she’d had with them in her earlier years at Hogwarts. He’d been a good man all along and she was sabotaging him.

Hermione wept into Charlie’s chest and he patted her back. What was she even doing? All along, she’d been trying to convince him to realize he was a good man and the whole time, she had been the one dragging him down. Charlie said nothing as he rocked them slowly in the swing, letting her cry herself out. The others were beginning to rouse and she could hear commotion through the window of the Burrow’s kitchen. Draco’s sharp laugh sounded through the morning air and she felt a pang in her chest, harsh enough to take her breath away.

She sat up and wiped her face on the sleeves of her jumper, her eyes puffy and nose running. “What do I do now?” she asked and she feared she’d start crying again.

“Stop assuming the worst of him at every turn,” Charlie said, and though it was meant genuinely and kindly, there was a strict undertone to his voice. “He is the one for you, but if you constantly keep doubting him and treating him as though he’s got nefarious intentions in everything he does, you’re going to lose him. He will run away, thinking he’s making the right choice for you because you can’t get over your own mind enough to love him the way he deserves.”

Ginny came around the hedges then and upon seeing the condition Hermione was in, she glared at her elder brother. “What did you do to her?”

Charlie shrugged. “Hit her with a dose of the cold, hard truth.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Hermione say up and retrieved her wand from her pocket to put some Glamour Charms over her cry-swollen face. “It means I’m a horrible person and it took your brother to finally make me see it.”

“You’re not a horrible person, ‘Mione,” Ginny said softly, brushing Hermione’s hair over her shoulder.

“Gin’s right. You’re not a horrible person. But you need to remember what I’ve said to you if you want to keep him,” Charlie told her, rising from his seat. “I’m sorry for coming off this way. But if I tiptoe around you the way your closest friends do, you’re going to keep doing more of the same.”

Hermione looked up at him and she felt terrible. He’d laid into her pretty good and she felt a sting to her ego and heart. He made her see what she’d been blinded to for so long—her own set of harmful prejudices against the man she loved. She took Charlie’s hand and gave it a squeeze, sighing deeply before dropping it. “Come on…I’m sure Draco’s getting antsy to eat breakfast and head out. We’ve got to go turn his wand in to Kingsley before we can go to Australia.”

She didn’t want to head inside—didn’t want to see him smile at her. She was undeserving of it and the guilt and anguish at Charlie’s words rang through her. How was she ever going to fix this?

Hermione entered the kitchen behind the two Weasleys and found Draco seated opposite Ron and George, beside Molly. Ginny went around and sat between George and her father and Hermione sat next to Draco, Charlie on her other side. The blond was laughing at some story Arthur was telling about Muggle toasters that could sing “God Save the Queen.” Hermione looked into his face, full of genuine laughter and thought of what Charlie had said about him leaving. Her heart couldn’t fathom a life without him in it. As he was smiling and laughing with Arthur, he popped a bite of potato hash into his mouth, nodding at Arthur’s words. He intertwined his fingers with Hermione’s under the table and her heart nearly stopped.

Draco Malfoy was perfection. Absolute beautiful, broken, worthy and passionate perfection. And she intended to keep him, no matter how many times she would have to make it up to him. She never wanted to be the source of his heartache again.

o-o-o


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caprubia—You got this babe! You’re brilliant and your story will reflect it! The way to establish a natural/effortless feel to a story is to literally play the scene out in your head. I can see the characters in my mind doing little things—like rubbing the back of their neck sheepishly or the way their body is set when they lean back against a table or what have you. Then I try to show people, instead of just telling it. I tend to write by the seat of my pants—I have a few ideas that are usually far out in the distance and I have to write ten chapters before I reach that point. So I usually sit down and just write, with no concrete ideas for the chapter—I just let my hands flow over the keyboard. Like, for instance, I had no intention when I was writing chapter two to have Charlie step in (or that I would split that long chapter into two parts, even). But he did (when I first sat down to write the Burrow scenes, it was almost Bill who came to his defense…but with Bill comes Fleur—ack!)! Right now, the only thing I seriously have planned is that they are going to America, their careers in America, their handfasting ceremony, and a massively horrible thing (which…I’m going to cry if this turns into a Threequel in order to get this all out—I could easily write 60 more chapters). But all of these things are separated by many chapters that I will need to get through.
> 
> I’ve gotten reviews or PMs asking how I update so quickly. I am actually a mortician. And when I am not meeting with grieving families, preparing the deceased or out working funerals, my boss allows us to spend free time as we wish—I spend about 70 hours a week at the funeral home, it’s my second home really. It takes me about an hour per 1000 words I write. So I sneak thirty minutes here and there and can usually finish up by the time I go to bed. If I go a day or two without posting, that means I was exceptionally busy. But I’ll update. I love this story too much to abandon this (unlike a couple of my others…yikes). Anyway…

Draco and Hermione stood on the front porch of the Burrow with the rest of the Weasleys. Hermione was hugging a weeping Mrs. Weasley as Draco said goodbye to the others. Arthur was the first to give him a firm handshake. “I never thought I’d have a Malfoy sitting in my home, enjoying my wife’s cooking. And I definitely never thought I’d enjoy said Malfoy’s company. But you’re a real joy to be around, son. Good luck in America—and do write me about the Muggles. I want to know everything.”

Draco laughed and placed his left hand over their clasped hands. “Thanks for having us, Mr. Weasley.”

George shook Draco’s hand without saying much else. Charlie stepped up to give him a firm handshake and a manly half hug. “Malfoy. Let me know when the sanctuary is open. I’ll get the minis to you. We really appreciate it.”

Draco nodded and gave the elder Weasley son a smile. Charlie leaned in and whispered. “And remember what I said,” and he winked.

Draco smirked as Ginny gave him a quick hug. “Be good to Theo…and patient,” he told the Weasley sister. “Red.”

Ginny laughed and punched his arm playfully. Draco watched as Hermione hugged each Weasley in turn and then he turned his attention to where Ron was sitting on the bench. Draco hadn’t forgotten what he’d overheard the night before and he knew the sacrifice Ron Weasley was making to keep Hermione happy. The respect and gratitude Draco felt for his enemy is what fueled him as he walked to stand in front of the crippled, slouched figure.

“Weasley.”

Ron looked up at him and sat back in his chair to cross his arms. “Malfoy.”

Draco stared him down for a moment before he extended his hand. The red head eyed it for a long moment, but Draco didn’t back down—he kept his hand hovering in the air. Ron finally sighed and took his hand in a gruff shake. “Just take care of her, man,” he whispered.

Draco stared into the freckled face and nodded once. “Every day for the rest of my life.”

Ron nodded, his chin quivering so briefly Draco wondered if it had happened at all. “Then that’s all I can ask for.”

Hermione came up behind Draco and placed a hand on his back. “I think Molly wanted to say goodbye.”

Draco gave Ron one last look and turned to greet the Weasley matriarch. He looked over his shoulder to see Ron and Hermione in a tight embrace and he felt his heart clench once. Charlie caught his eye and shook his head. Draco nodded. He needed to be strong for his witch, to stick by her and give her everything her heart desired. Even if her heart pitifully desired him.

“Oh, dear! I—I just wanted to say I’m sorry for everything that happened before…you’re not your father and we never should have assumed otherwise,” Mrs. Weasley was crying as she pulled Draco into a tight embrace.

Draco knew she had a way of pulling in strays as her own—she’d done it to Potter and Granger. And with the bone crushing way she was gripping him, he knew that she’d accepted him. A feeling spread through him, warm and foreign. His own mother had never hugged him quite so forcefully. He buried his chin into her pudgy shoulder and his hands on her back in a gentle, unsure embrace. “I’m going to need some expanding spells on my pants after eating your cooking all week!” she teased charmingly.

She pulled back. “Nonsense, dear. You could stand to gain a stone…or two.”

Draco laughed and ran a hand over his still skinny, lithe Seeker’s frame. “If I kept eating those treacle tarts and chocolate cakes, I’d be fattened like a Christmas goose in no time!”

Mrs. Weasley smiled and retrieved a plastic food dish. “I made an assortment of goodies for the road.”

Draco took the container and could see the sweet treats within. He felt his stomach rumble appreciatively as he shrank the box and put it in the pocket of his sweater. “Thank you.”

He felt a strange sensation as he stood and looked at the Weasley family. There wasn’t an angry or bitter face among them—George was merely indifferent and Ron was accepting of the circumstances. The others were warm and friendly. Never in his life did Draco think he’d actually miss a Weasley. But as he stood there, he knew he’d miss the loving, doting parents, the fiery little imp and Charlie—the big brother type he’d never had.

He cleared his throat. Hermione slid in beside him and laced her fingers with his. “We’ve got to go.”

He smiled down at the face of his witch looking up at him and then smiled at everyone else. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Write us. Both of you!” Mrs. Weasley said.

Draco nodded and he Apparated them to an alleyway around the corner from the red telephone booth that served as the entrance to the Ministry. He looked down at Hermione and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She was gnawing at her bottom lip anxiously and he knew she was nervous about going to Australia. She moved to walk forward but he stopped her with a tug at her hand.

Hermione lifted her eyes toward him questioningly. Draco stepped in and used his free hand to cup her cheek. “Everything is going to be okay—I promise. I’ll be right here beside you the whole time…we’ll bring them back to you.”

He bent down and brushed his lips against hers and ran his thumb over her cheek to wipe away an anxious tear. Hermione was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read—sadness, nervousness and perhaps…guilt? Draco’s heart throbbed painfully at the look she was giving him and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He placed a kiss on her forehead. “I love you, Granger,” he whispered, his lips still a hairsbreadth from her skin.

“I love you. We…we have a lot of things we need to discuss…” she replied, taking a step back and placing her hands on his chest.

Draco silenced her with a soft kiss. A fat tear appeared in the corner of her eye and Draco brushed it away with his thumb. The stepped into the phone booth and Draco dialed 62442 and within moments they were descending down into the Atrium of the Ministry. He brought Hermione’s knuckles to his lips and kissed each one. “Breathe, love.”

Hermione looked over at him and nodded, swallowing hard. They stepped out into the Atrium and made their way to the lift. As Draco Malfoy held onto Hermione Granger’s hand, the Atrium rang silent as everyone stared at them.

o-o-o

Hermione was more nervous than she could remember ever being in her life. But it was only partially because of their impending trip to Australia. She was also feeling anxiety at the prospect of this being their first public outing in the wizarding world together—the gala being before their actual courtship. Charlie’s words were reverberating in her ears. Your life with Draco will not be easy…he is not received well by those outside…

She put her chin out in defiance. Hermione would normally tuck her chin and walk on, trying to avoid the prying eyes of those they passed. But not this time. She’d hurt him so much in the past—he needed some reassurance that she would be there for him, just as he was for her. She faced forward and gave his hand a squeeze. They passed a few people whispering to one another, not-so-subtly.

Hermione smiled widely and brought Draco’s hand to her lips, mirroring his sweet gesture from a few minutes before. This set a group of witches atwitter and she smirked at them. That’s right you twittering little bimbos. Draco is mine. Feed that little tidbit to the Witch Weekly! His jaw was set and his face stony, but when he felt her lips against his skin, he smiled down at her. “I’m right here,” Hermione whispered.

A short wizard of about thirty came up to the pair and held out his hand to Draco. “Mr. Malfoy. My wife is in the Longbottom’s ward at St. Mungo’s…your Cruciatus Calming Draught…Neville gave me a vial…she’s no longer seizing every day.”

Draco leaned back, away from the man’s voracious show of gratitude. “I’m glad, Mr…?”

“Hockley. Gerald Hockley. Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes,” the man said, still shaking Draco’s hand.

“Yes, well. Mr. Hockley, Neville Longbottom has brought the necessary information and paperwork to the team of Healers there. Soon, the Draught will be available to all who need it. I hope your wife continues to improve. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve really got to run—we’re late as it is.”

The man smiled kindly and shook his hand for a moment more, a tear in the corner of one eye as a camera went off to their right. Draco and Hermione turned to the source and saw a tiny witch taking pictures as she dictated to a quick quotes quill. “Come on, love,” Hermione said, pulling him closer to herself and walking them toward the lift once more.

Draco was sullen as they entered the lift. “I can only imagine what they’re going to say about us tomorrow.”

“You were probably using the Imperius on Hockley to get him to infiltrate the Ministry from within the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes,” Hermione said with a dry smile.

Draco laughed and she stepped into his chest as the lift went straight back before dropping. She raised her face to his and nuzzled his nose with his lovingly before kissing the middle of his chin. “Don’t worry so much about what people think…you’re a good man. They’ll see it in your actions and kind works.”

He pursed his lips. When will you see it Hermione? she asked herself when she saw the disbelieving look in his face. They arrived at the first level and stepped off of the lift to make their way to the Minister’s office. Draco swallowed hard and looked down at her as she stared straight at the Minister’s closed door. “Are you ready?”

Hermione took a deep breath, steadying her nerves. “Yes.”

He knocked on the door and heard a deep, “Enter!” sound from behind the heavy wood. Draco pushed open the door and they entered to find a kindly looking Kingsley Shacklebolt with his feet up on the desk, levitating a palm sized toy broom around the room. “Minister,” Draco greeted.

Hermione gave the Minister for Magic a stiff hug when he came around the desk. “Hermione. Draco. I was beginning to think you’d never show.”

“And yet, here we are,” Draco said, retrieving his wand from his back pocket.

He stared at his wand for a moment and Hermione knew he didn’t want to part with it. A wizard’s wand was like an arm or leg—a lifeline in the face of trouble and a way of life. Draco was a Pureblood, raised by other’s who cared for him until he was old enough to do magic to get by. He’d never had to do anything without magic and now he was giving up his wand. He would be able to retrieve it in a week before he left for America, but he was hesitant.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow and held out his hand. Draco ground his teeth for a moment and handed it to him. “One week.”

“One week. I spoke with the President of MACUSA. You are to register your wand immediately upon arrival in Louisiana. There will be a MACUSA agent there to greet you at the appointed location,” he said, placing Draco’s wand into his robes pocket to be stowed in a safe location later.

Draco nodded and Hermione frowned. This was really unnecessary in her eyes. He’d come such a far way since spending two months in Azkaban the year prior—his probation was really a formality to keep the public happy. “And do we need to meet someone upon arrival in Australia?” he asked.

The Minister shook his head. “You’re a wandless probationary criminal—no real threat to them. And Hermione is a War heroine. I gave them the specs on Hermione’s wand and files on both of you, including photos and detailed records. The memory charm you used was illegal, Hermione,” he glared down his nose at her. “And it took a lot of arm twisting to get the Australian Ministry to trust that you aren’t a criminal.”

Hermione nodded once and her cheeks flushed. Draco put an arm around her. “I’m sure Hermione understands. Now…if we could get the Portkey,” he said tersely.

Kingsley hesitated for a moment and reaching into his desk. He retrieved a velvet bag and levitated a koala keychain out of it. “One week, Mr. Malfoy. I expect you back in this office. I will not hesitate to contact the Australian Aurors if you do not return in a timely fashion.”

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. Draco nodded. “I will be back in one week. And Hermione will be utilizing Muggle transportation to come back. We will owl when we know the date, but it will be well within the month’s time frame you’ve given her.”

Kingsley looked at the pair and smiled slowly. “Good luck, Hermione.”

The couple came forward and with a deep breath, Draco lifted their clasped hands and took hold of the levitating keychain between them.

o-o-o

They landed in the sand on a dark beach and Hermione fell to her knees upon landing. Australia was eleven hours ahead, just approaching midnight. She looked around and saw that their makeshift home was behind her. It was a basic Muggle home that Kinglsey had arranged for, accessible by a long winding driveway or the beach, completely hidden away from prying eyes.

Draco helped her stand and brushed the sand off of his own pants. “Let’s go in and see the place.”

He led the way to the door and hesitated, desperately wanting to use wandless magic to unlock the door. Hermione gave him a sympathetic look and tapped the doorknob with her wand to unlock it. The inside was basic and nondescript—minimalist furniture and little to no homey touches. The place felt cold and Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine.

Draco seemed to take notice and he retrieved their shrunken belongings from his pockets. She enlarged it all to normal size and he brought everything to the one bedroom while Hermione stared blankly into the kitchen. They were actually in Australia. This was no longer a far off dream of a possibility. She was here in Australia to restore her parents’ memories. Draco was here with her to hold her when she fell.

The thought was overwhelming and she began to cry. The sound of her sobs drew Draco out of the bedroom, a half eaten biscuit of Molly’s in his mouth as he pulled his jumper off. He tossed the cookie onto the counter and his jumper to the couch as he crossed back to where she stood.

He pulled her into an embrace and shushed her lightly as she wept. “Please don’t cry, Hermione. Not yet. We came here to bring your parents back, and that’s just what we’ll do. When the sun comes up, we’ll head to their shop and scout them out.”

Hermione had replaced her parents’ memories instead of wiping them completely. She had convinced them that their names were Monica and Wendell Wilkins, who were childless and had a strong desire to move to Sydney and open a floral shop. Through some crafty detective work, Shacklebolt’s connections had located the shop in the heart of the city. But that was as far as their connections would go. The rest was up to Hermione. And now, Draco.

She pulled back and nodded toward the door. “Why don’t we go talk?”

She pulled Draco toward the sliding glass door and they stepped back out into the dark night and stumbled across the sand to the beach shore. Their location was somewhat secluded, with the nearest house being a blip a mile away. He stopped to roll his pant legs up and remove his socks and shoes. She toed off her sandals and they went to the water’s edge to sit.

Draco put his toes into the wet sand where the waves lapped indolently at their ankles. The air was thick with the smell of salt and the air was sticky and warm. There was a gentle breeze blowing in from the water and Hermione marveled at the way it tickled Draco’s hair, making it fall across his eyes sexily as he stared out over the ocean.

The sound of the ocean’s roar, the gentle slapping of waves against the shore as it ebbed and flowed lulling her into a sense of relaxation. Draco was sitting with his knees bent up, toes in the sand, arms draped over his knees. She leaned into his arm and snaked her hand up to rest over his Dark Mark. He looked down at her and she fought to stare straight ahead.

“So…I’ve been an arsehole,” she began.

Draco laughed throatily. “How so?”

Hermione kissed the corner of his smile and settled back into his shoulder and arm. “I am so self-centered and have such a one-track mind that I didn’t even take into consideration how my actions were making you feel.”

“Hermione—”

She shook her head. “No. Let me talk.”

Draco clamped his mouth shut, his brow furrowed as he looked down at her. She ran a finger over his jaw, the birthmark he had along his jawline, the soft prickles of his unshaved face tickling her fingertip. “I never want you to think that I take you for granted. Because I don’t. I fear every day that you will leave. And for a while, I believed you would leave because of your own martyr mentality toward making sure I’m happy. But…I realized that if you leave, it will be because of me.”

Draco parted his lips, his face screwed up in subtle confusion and protest. She kissed his forehead. “I don’t intentionally assume the worst of you. I have been jaded by the events of the last few years and it comes more naturally to me to assume the worst. It’s no excuse—believe me, I know this. I love you, Draco. I want you to be there, with me, every single day of our lives. I want to marry you and I want a family with you. I want us to grow old together.”

“I want that, too, Granger,” he whispered, his throat catching.

“You are a great man. You have a big heart, one that is slowly being shown to the world. I want you to know that it doesn’t matter to me what the tabloids will say, what pictures of us the splash all over the place. I don’t care if we get turned away from a particular place because other people are too bigoted and arrogant to change their perceptions of someone. That’s their problem. I want to be there, beside you for every camera flash, every negative story, every turn-away. Because I’m not ashamed—in fact, I’m proud of you, proud of how far you’ve come and who you’ve become. I’m proud to be yours, and nothing anyone says will change that. Do you hear me?”

She shook their clasped hands. “Do you?”

Draco was crying—she could see the slick trails across his cheeks in the dim moonlight. She leaned forward and kissed both of his slick cheeks, tasting the salt between her lips when she pulled away. “And I don’t think negatively of you. No matter how much of an arsehole thing I say or do—like begging you to stay at the Weasleys’ before you were ready—I want you to know that I value you above anything else in this world. I’ve been terrible at tearing you apart when I should have been building you up. I should have stepped in between you and Ron and served his shit back to him instead of making you feel lesser. You are nothing but incredible to me and this relationship has been so one sided,” she said, gesturing around them to indicate coming to Australia was one example.

“Hermione, you know I don’t think that. I just…I wish you wouldn’t jump to horrible conclusions about me. I haven’t had a Dark thought, besides my own self-deprecation, in a long while. I have no desire to harm others, to hurt you or to return to the Dark Arts. I want to live a long, happy life with you. No matter what it takes to get there. I just…I don’t understand how love can hurt so much sometimes,” he said, and his voice was a raspy whisper as he choked back a sob and looked out over the water again.

Hermione’s heart clenched in her chest achingly. She looked at the beautiful man beside her, his heart broken and battered by her own actions. “It shouldn’t. Love should be light and all encompassing. Please don’t hurt anymore. I trust you. I value you. And most importantly, I love you, Draco Malfoy. I am going to spend every day making it up to you, because I never want to see this look on your face again,” she said, leaning up to brush the overgrown side of his hair behind his ear.

She placed her hand on his cheek and when he turned his face, she wiped his tears away with her thumbs, as he’d done for her so many times. “Don’t hurt anymore. Please,” she whispered and she put his head into her chest.

He allowed her to wrap her arms around him and cradle his head against her chest. Her own sob escaped her as she felt his shoulders shake lightly. How had she messed things up so badly? Charlie was right—she had slowly been destroying Draco, without even realizing it. He held onto a strong façade at all times, not wanting to show weakness—it wasn’t masculine or good form for a Pureblood aristocrat. But it was all coming to him then, and she didn’t think her heart could take much more.

Hermione knew she needed to start treating him with more respect and value of she wanted to repair things. He deserved gratitude and outward displays of pride in him and the fierce love he displayed reciprocated back to him. Hermione sat with her knees bent under her, clutching a heartbroken Draco Malfoy to her chest for what felt like hours. She was going to be the fierce witch that a powerful, amazing wizard like Draco Malfoy deserved.

o-o-o


	5. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I chose Funeral Directing for Draco for a few reasons. First, it’s my passion in life—everything about death and dying. This may sound morbid or weird, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other job. My screenname, The Mourning Madam, came about because I love Victorian era mourning traditions. It was originally The Mourning Mistress, but I’m married and Madam sounds more authoritative (the screenname came about before the group in The Hazards of Love). Second, I want Draco to live among Muggles, to do a Muggle profession. And I’ve been a mortician my entire adult life, so I need to write about what I know—I don’t know enough about anything else to even fake it. Third, I wanted a profession for him that hadn’t appeared in every other Dramione I’ve ever read or written—alchemist, potions professor, money lender, etc. It’s all been done before. Show me a story where he’s a mortician—seriously. I want to read it. And lastly, his position as a mortician will come into play on at least two separate occasions during this story—in the distant future. It seems like a weird choice…except to me…a mortician… :D

Draco awoke the next morning to the soft roar of the ocean. He and Hermione had talked on the beach late into the night, he pouring his heart out and she listening and mending it back together. She hadn’t called him weak or thought less of him for expressing his true feelings and for that, he was grateful.

It was sunrise and they’d only been asleep for a couple of hours—a nap really, given that they had come from Great Britain well rested and eleven hours behind the time here. He sat up in the warm morning air, his feet dug deep into the sand and stretched his arms high above his head. Hermione had summoned a blanket form the house to lay back on as they talked and let sleep take them for a few brief hours. He felt a soft hand under his shirt, pressing against the small of his back. “Morning, love,” he said, leaning down to press his lips to his witch’s forehead.

She slowly sat up next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and leaning her head against his shoulder. “Do we really have to do this?” she asked, her voice hoarse with misuse.

Draco nodded. “We came this far. I know you’ve missed them terribly—it’s time to bring them back. The War is over, they’re safe now.”

Hermione frowned next to him. “What if they hate me? What if they can’t forgive me?”

He clenched his teeth and worked his jaw as he stared out over the ocean. “That won’t happen. They’re your parents and they love you.”

“But what if it does? Or what if I can’t bring them back? What if I try and make it worse?” she said, her throat catching.

Draco sighed. All of those things were very real possibilities he’d gone over in his mind since December when they’d first entered her home. “You’ve got to try. Or you will eat yourself up with the ‘what if’s’. At least attempt it and if it doesn’t work, you can say you tried,” he told her, placing a kiss atop her sandy hair.

“Well, let’s go then. My nerves are about to devour me,” she sighed, wringing her hands as she hesitated a moment before standing.

“That’s my girl,” he said, allowing her to pull him into a standing position.

They went inside to bathe, a quiet conjoined shower that held no sexual undertones, only overt anxiety and a stealthy sadness. After they’d dressed, Draco went into the kitchen to retrieve some pastries Mrs. Weasley had sent. “We need food in this house,” he muttered, the cooling Muggle contraption desolately bare.

“We can go to the grocery later,” Hermione told him, her face set in a deep frown.

“Grocery…Gross-er-y,” he said, tasting the word on his lips. “Is that a market?”

“Of sorts. For food and various sundry items,” she said with a shrug.

He finished his pastry and drank the last gulp of water. Hermione hadn’t touched a thing. “Are you ready?” he asked her, placing his hand over hers.

“Not at all,” she said, and he could tell she was on the verge of tears.

“Let’s go, love. There’s no time like the present. The more we procrastinate, the more we prolong your worrying,” he said, standing and holding his hand out for her to take.

He retrieved a slip of paper from his pocket and she read the address of Wilkins’ Floral Market over and over before she Apparated them into the heart of Sydney.

They landed in an unoccupied alleyway and went into the main street, lined on both sides with shops of varying kinds. Most were not open but ahead, he saw a woman bringing floral arrangements out to place on the sidewalk outside of the shop. Hermione froze where she was and Draco knew that must have been her mother. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I-I’m sorry,” Hermione said, backing up and trying to pry her hand form his.

Draco held onto her hand firmly and turned her around. “Listen to me, Hermione. Your parents love you. They may not be receptive at first…but you’ve got to give them time. You need to explain everything to them and your reasoning behind your actions. They will understand,” he said, looking over her shoulder at the pleasant looking woman currently sweeping the doorway to the floral shop.

She looked a lot like Hermione. Her hair was curly on top but cropped tight against her head on the sides—a feminine and playful pompadour that fit with the rest of her features. Her skin was the same shade that Hermione’s turned when she spent time outside in the sunlight. Draco couldn’t see her eyes from here, but he suspected they would be the same shade of brown. As he was inspecting the woman, a man came out to join her, placing a hand on her back as they spoke. Her father. A man who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying the hot Australian beaches. He was tanned and his sandy blond hair was disheveled in a handsome manner. He was wearing bright blue swim shorts and a white t-shirt, looking more relaxed than Draco had thought a middle aged man could. Together, Hermione’s parents were an attractive couple, clearly content with their life in Australia. If he knew it wouldn’t break Hermione’s heart, he almost suggested they just leave right then—leave the Grangers in an oblivious bliss.

Instead, Draco grabbed Hermione’s upper arms lightly. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee in that coffee shop there,” he said, pointing at a café across from the florist, “and let’s sit at the table and observe. Just for a moment.”

Hermione nodded, swallowing hard as a single tear slipped from her eye. He lifted his thumb and wiped it away and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Come on, my little duck,” he said and he turned her around and gave her a gentle nudge in the direction of the coffee shop.

Paper cups in hand, they sat at the wrought iron table outside, their chairs angled so as to not be obvious but providing a clear view of Wilkins’. Draco watched as the streets awoke, more and more Muggles beginning to mull about. A few stopped at the shop across the way and the Grangers greeted them as old friends. He watched Hermione’s reaction as she watched her parents. “How do you feel?” he asked, nudging her knee with his.

She frowned and looked down at the paper cup between her hands. “Like an outsider. They don’t even know who I am, Draco,” she said, her voice breaking.

As she said this, her father looked both ways and crossed the street, coming to rest on the other side of the low wrought iron gate where they sat. “You’re not from around here are you?” the kindly man asked, handing a rose to Hermione.

“How could you tell?” Draco asked, taking Hermione’s hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

She was staring at her father with an expression of abject sadness and longing and it broke Draco’s heart to see. Her father laughed. “I’ve never seen someone so pale—clearly you come from up north. Judging by the accent I’d say West England somewhere?”

“Wilshire,” Draco replied with a kind smile.

“Wendell Wilkins,” the older man said, extending his hand to Draco.

“Draco Malfoy. And this is my…love, Hermione Granger,” he said, hoping against all hope that the man would snap out of his altered memories at the mere mention of his daughter.

“Draco. Like the dragon constellation. An unusual name indeed. And Hermione, what a beautiful name. From Shakespeare’s The Winter’s Tale,” he replied. “My wife, Monica, is in the shop across the way. I just wanted to come over and introduce myself to you both—it’s nice for tourists to meet at least one friendly face so far from home. We sold our house in London a while back and moved here.”

“And…how do you like it?” Hermione squeaked out and Draco tightened his grip on her hand, knowing she was suffering.

“I never want to go back! It was so cold and uninviting in England. It’s so warm and sunny here a good majority of the year. The folks are much more open and kind and inviting,” Mr. Granger said, gesturing to himself with a laugh.

Draco laughed with him and Mr. Granger took a step back. “Let us know if we can get you anything or if you need any restaurant recommendations!”

Draco nodded once and lifted his hand in a small wave of thanks. Mr. Granger walked back across the street and he let out a long breath. He looked over at Hermione and her eyes were red and brimmed with unshed tears. “I don’t want to be here anymore,” she said, wiping angrily at her tears.

“That’s not an option and we both know it. Why don’t we just go ahead and do it now? Before you can talk yourself out of it,” Draco urged, knowing that if they didn’t act soon, Hermione would back out.

His girl…his Hermione. She was always the martyr for others before herself. She’d put her parents’ false, obliviated happiness before her own and he couldn’t allow that. He tossed their paper cups and lifted her gently by the elbow. “Come on…before it gets too busy.”

Draco led them across the street and they paused only briefly outside of the door to the floral shop. He opened the door and plastered a smile on his face. Mr. Granger smiled kindly. “Ah, Draco! Hermione! Tempted by our charming rose displays? Or was it my charming charisma?”

Draco laughed politely. “I was wondering if you might have any dahlias…perhaps black dahlias?”

Mr. Granger scrunched his face in thought. “Monica,” he called over his shoulder. “Do we have any black dahlias?”

Mrs. Granger’s voice sounded from behind the curtain separating the shop from their workspace. “I’m trying to assemble this dolphin piece, Wen. Come check!”

Mr. Granger laughed. “Be right back,” he replied with a wink.

He stepped behind the curtain as well and Draco took the moment to slink with Seeker’s speed to the front door. He peered out and looked both ways before locking the deadbolt and turning the ‘OPEN’ sign to read ‘CLOSED.’ Hermione was staring at the blue curtain blankly and Draco came up behind her and retrieved her wand from her waistband. He held it out for her and her hand closed around it as her lip quivered.

“Why don’t you use a body bind? It might make it easier on you,” he suggested.

Hermione looked over at him in horror and he spoke slowly. “You’ll never be able to get through it if they are moving about,” he said.

Hermione nodded and swallowed. Draco nodded once sharply. “Now.”

Hermione took a deep breath and Draco pulled the curtain to one side. Her mother was standing behind a tall workbench, clipping the ends off of a handful of roses and her father was on a ladder, reaching the top shelf of the flower cooler to retrieve his supply of dahlias. “You can’t be in here—” Mrs. Granger hadn’t gotten the words out when Hermione whispered, Petrificus Totalus!

Mrs. Granger stiffened and leaned forward against the table. Her husband descended the ladder and looked over his shoulder suspiciously. “What’s going on—”

“Petrificus Totalus!” Hermione whispered once more and her father got board stiff and fell back against the cooler.

Draco drew the curtains back so any nosy Muggles couldn’t see what they were doing and moved quickly to set the man gently to the ground. He pulled Monica from where she stood and gently laid her on her back beside her husband. Hermione was fully crying by this point and he was growing increasingly paranoid about being caught. “Hermione, hurry. We don’t have much time…the shop opened an hour ago! Someone will be coming soon!” he said, trying to mask the panic he was suddenly feeling.

Hermione was frozen to the spot and he felt himself growing agitatedly angry at her immobility. “Hermione, now!”

But she still didn’t move. “I can’t do this!” she shrieked, lowering her wand and dropping it at her side.

“Shit. Shit! Hermione, pull it together, love!” he said, rising from between her parents and retrieving her wand. “We have come all the way to Australia for this.”

He thrust her wand back into her hand and stepped around behind her. His heart was pounding as he heard a knock on the glass store front. “Hermione, either say the incantation or obliviate the last fifteen minutes from their minds—we are going to be caught in the back room of a storefront shop with two unconscious people!”

He was panicking and it took everything in him not to take her wand and perform magic. It would do them no good to have Aurors descend on him at this point. He slid his hand around hers as she grasped her wand at her side and lifted her arm. Her hand was shaking and he held it firmly, wrapping one arm around her waist from behind and resting his chin on her shoulder. He was careful to pull his hand away from the smooth vine wood of her wand and it took every ounce of self-control not to project any of his magic. “Say the incantation, love. Stop faltering.”

Hermione’s breathing was increasing and she nodded once. “Concentrate on the memories,” he breathed into her ear.

She was shaking uncontrollably, only being held upright by Draco’s strong arm around her waist and his firm hand around her outstretched wrist. She closed her eyes as she concentrated and said the incantation under her breath, clearly but quietly. “Memento vitae…memento vitae…memento vitae…”

She said the incantation the required three times as she pointed her wand between her father’s eyes. Draco watched as the middle-aged man’s eyes glazed over, even in his constricted, petrified state. A long strand of blinding white light connected her wand with his forehead for a long moment before it fizzled out. Hermione repeated the incantation three times for her mother as well and Draco saw a single tear slide from Mrs. Granger’s eye as they glazed over on either side of the white strand and became clouded for a moment before clearing to a dark coffee color. Hermione whispered the reversal to release them from their full body binds and the two Grangers scrambled to sit upright.

Hermione fell to her knees in front of her father as he eyed her wearily. “Hermione? What are we doing here? And who is he?”

Hermione was sobbing as she tossed her arms around her father’s neck and her mother was looking at her with a look of utter confusion. Draco stared at the three, feeling like a voyeuristic outsider. “You remember me?” Hermione was saying through her tears.

“Of course we remember you…what’s going on, Herms?” her father asked, rubbing his head, which was no doubt aching.

“Mum…dad…” Hermione was sobbing uncontrollably as her father patted her back uncertainly and her mother stared at Draco uncertainly.

Draco went to kneel behind Hermione. “We need to get out of here…let’s get them to their house so we can explain what’s going on.”

“Do you know where you live?” she asked her parents.

Her mother stated the address and Hermione nodded, taking both of her parents hands as Draco grasped her shoulder. Hermione side-along Apparated them all into a small bungalow on the beach, not unlike the one Shacklebolt had obtained for them, but much more homey feeling. “Do you feel poorly?” Hermione asked.

“My head is spinning uncontrollably,” her mother said, stumbling back and sitting roughly on the couch.

Hermione nodded and pushed her father down beside her mother. “What is going on?” Mr. Granger asked for the third time.

Draco dismissed himself to retrieve two glasses of water for the Grangers. He searched and found two cloths and wet them as well. He remembered his first time side-along Apparating—he could only imagine what it felt like to a Muggle. He went into the living room and knelt in front of the parents and handed them each a glass and a cool cloth. “You’ll feel better in a moment,” he reassured them.

“Mum, dad…I have a lot I need to tell you,” Hermione began, her voice thick with emotion.

“Clearly,” her mother said, gesturing toward Draco.

“You know who I am?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Sure…you’re the platinum-haired prat that bullied my daughter so bad, she cried for months on end about her teeth and hair,” Mrs. Granger said, narrowing her eyes at him.

Her words punched Draco right in the gut. Of course they only knew of him from his early Hogwarts days—they’d been blissfully unaware of the War as they lounged on the beach here in Australia. “Mum!” Hermione said, shaking her head. “There’s no need for that.”

Her father was looking at Draco like he wanted to murder him. “Draco Malfoy. Of course…I should have remembered as soon as you said it earlier. But…but I couldn’t?”

His voice faltered as he grew increasingly more confused. Hermione bit her lip and Draco took the seat next to her on the couch opposite the Grangers. “Mr. and Mrs. Granger…we have a lot of information to tell you. But I want to preface it all by saying…Hermione did what she needed to do to save your lives. Please, please try not to be upset with her.”

Mrs. Granger was eyeing him like chewing gum beneath her shoe. He shivered under her stern gaze. He looked over at Hermione and gave her a single nod, rubbing circles on her back as she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “I had to wipe your memories at the start of the War.”

“You did what to us?” Mr. Granger roared, attempting to sit up but his dizziness caused him to fall right back into the couch.

“It was necessary…the Death Eaters…they were hunting Muggle-borns and their families…I worried that they would find you,” Hermione was mumbling, staring at her clasped hands in her lap.

“You mean he was hunting us,” Mr. Granger said, pointing to Draco.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek and raised his chin. He wouldn’t let their negativity get to him—they were angry and unaware. “No!” Hermione exclaimed loudly.

“But he has the tattoo on his arm,” Mrs. Granger said, pointing to where the bottom of the snake was showing under the thin black cotton shirt.

“He has the Mark…but he was no evil Death Eater,” Hermione said, taking Draco’s right hand in her own, he continuing to rub his left over her back soothingly.

“I don’t understand how he goes from bullying you, to being a henchman, to holding your hand in our living room in Australia!” Mr. Granger said.

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. First, let’s talk of the War and its outcome…then we’ll tell you about…us,” Draco said, lowering his gaze to stare at the floor.

“I went home, the summer after sixth year. You were sitting on the couch, sharing your morning coffee and reading the paper together…I came up behind you and planted the aliases Monica and Wendell Wilkins in your minds…I wiped myself from your memory completely and I placed the uncontrollable urge to move to Australia to become florists in your minds. Mum always said that was her dream life…”

Mrs. Granger was crying as she shook her head. “You had no right, Hermione Jean! No right to take that decision from us!”

Hermione sobbed openly and Draco glared at her mother. “She did what she had to do. You do not understand, cannot possibly fathom the evil doings and horrors committed by the Dark Lord and his followers.”

“Yourself, included?” Mrs. Granger challenged.

Draco clenched his jaw. “Myself included.”

Her parents stared at him in horror and he looked down to the floor. “That is the other part of this story, mum. Let’s get through the synopsis of the War, first,” Hermione said, shooting him an apologetic look.

Mrs. Granger waved her hand for Hermione to continue as she patted her forehead with the damp cloth. “After I wiped your memories, you sold your house…to me. Well, a disguised me…it’s still there, in London. Just the way it was before I left…after that, Harry, Ron and I went out to hunt for these trinkets called Horcruxes—ordinary objects that housed parts of Voldemort’s soul. It took us almost a year to track them all down and destroy them, but we did it. Harry killed Voldemort after a lengthy battle at Hogwarts…a lot of people died…Fred Weasley…Tonks…Professor Lupin…” she stopped and took a deep breath to compose herself. “I can explain this more in depth later…it’s overwhelming, I know.”

“And him?” Mr. Granger asked, gesturing toward Draco.

Draco felt so much shame at the way the Grangers thought of him that he was breathing erratically next to Hermione, his hand stilled at the small of her back. Hermione pulled back her sleeve to reveal the bright red MUDBLOOD. Her parents recoiled and her mother put a hand over her mouth. “What happened?” she asked, tears welling in her eyes.

Hermione ran her fingertips over her arm and Draco had to deep breathe beside her. He hadn’t had a flashback in months, no matter how frequently he had seen her scar. But his fragile mind was inhaling her vanilla scent and he could hear the piercing screams as she writhed on the floor before him. He could feel the terror welling inside of him, so heavy he wanted to vomit.

Hermione squeezed his knee to bring him back. “Breathe…in through the nose, out through the mouth,” she whispered kindly.

Draco nodded as she sighed to continue speaking. “Easter a year ago, we got captured by Voldemort’s bounty hunters and we were brought to Malfoy Manor.”

“He did this to you?” her father asked, confusion all over his face, anger painting his tone.

“No!” Hermione exclaimed. “His…aunt did…I was tortured for information. I refused to give it to her, so she thought it fitting to brand me with an accurate description of myself.”

“Hermione—” Draco started.

She put her hand up. “I distorted Harry’s features as we were caught. Draco hesitated in identifying all of us, buying us the time to escape. He saved our lives that day.”

She squeezed his hand and Draco thought he might throw up, reliving that day in his mind like a film reel. “After the War…we both went back to Hogwarts to complete the year we missed.”

“You went back to school for a year?” her mother shrieked. “Why didn’t you bring us back immediately after the War ended?”

Hermione bit her lip and looked at the floor. Draco cleared his throat. “She couldn’t do this alone. She needed assistance.”

“Where are Ron and Harry?” her mother asked, looking around as though they might pop out of the kitchen.

“They went away to Auror training to become Dark wizard catchers…Harry’s still there. Ron…sustained an injury and is now working with George at the joke shop,” she said, averting her gaze back to her hands.

“Oh no! Will he be okay?” Mrs. Granger asked and Draco felt a pang of jealousy.

She clearly cared about Ron Weasley’s well being as she stared daggers at him. “Mum…Ron and I…we tried to make things work but…they just didn’t. A year is a long time apart and a long time to clear your head.”

“I’m still not hearing how on earth the your schoolyard rival ended up in my home,” Mr. Granger said.

Hermione looked over at Draco and gave him a timid smile. “Before we were allowed to return to Hogwarts, we were required to take counseling sessions with a Mind Healer…a magical psychiatrist. We learned quite a bit about each other then. We fought tooth and nail for months after that. Until he offered to go with me to the house—I hadn’t been back since you left. I couldn’t face it alone. So he came with me and helped me get through it. He promised to come with me now. And we…grew to love one another in the months that followed,” she finished with a wide smile at Draco.

Draco returned her smile with a small, bashful one of his own and he looked at her parents. “I love your daughter more than I ever thought it possible to love another human being.”

Mr. Granger exchanged a look of disbelief with his wife and she looked utterly exhausted. “I can’t take this all in right now. There’s so many questions I have but I can’t focus on any one thing. I need to lie down,” she said, tossing her cloth onto the coffee table and rising to head to the room.

Hermione watched her mother’s back retreat into her room, where she slammed the door definitively behind her. Her bottom lip quivered and Draco wrapped his arm around her. She looked down at her hands. “Are you angry with me, too?” she asked her father.

“Disappointed mostly,” he replied shortly. “Disappointed that you wouldn’t even give us the courtesy of choosing our destiny…or at least telling us what was going to happen…I’m with your mother…I need to lie down.”

“We have much left to discuss,” Draco said to him as Hermione wept silently beside him.

“Later. Whatever she did to us…it’s made me feel viciously ill,” he said with a terrified and wary look at his daughter. He retreated into the room his wife had entered a few moments before.

Draco sighed. That had not ended in the happily ever after that he’d hoped for. He wrapped his arms around Hermione and held her against his chest as she cried tears for her ruined relationship with her parents. He made comforting shushing noises and rubbed a hand over her hair. “They’ll come around. Give them a little time…We’ll speak with them once more this evening when they’ve had a few hours to digest the information.”

Hermione nodded into his shirt and Draco wished beyond all hope that when her parents emerged from their room later that evening, they would be more receptive to the daughter that did everything for them out of pure love in her heart.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco and Hermione were sitting at the table on the Granger’s patio later that evening. Hermione had wept silently on the couch for a good majority of the day. Her face was swollen and splotchy, raw from the tears and the constant wiping. Draco felt helpless and it took everything he had not to break down the Grangers’ door and read them the riot act. He couldn’t handle the heartache his witch was going through.

He understood where the couple was coming from. It was probably very terrifying and shocking to find out that your child holds magical capabilities to begin with. Hermione wasn’t allowed to use magic at home while she had the trace, so they had probably never witnessed her perform magic properly. So to find out that their daughter, who holds the power to take a human life with two words, turned her wand on them and performed a complicated and honestly, Dark, bit of magic…it must have been devastating.

And it had been two years. Hermione hadn’t won the War and then come straight for them. No. She’d taken another year to contemplate her choices, to muster up the courage, for him to accompany her. Then, there was the little complication that she’d shown up holding hands with a Death Eater. Though they couldn’t possibly understand what exactly the War entailed, couldn’t fathom the evils that people could commit with nothing but a stick and the spoken word, would never have to witness the horrors their daughter had, they knew. They knew that he had been on the opposite side, a supposed killer, a maniacal bloodthirsty foot soldier in Voldemort’s army.

And that thought consumed him deeply. He refused to say anything of it to Hermione—her state of mind was so fragile already. He put the stoic, hardened façade of yesteryear on his face, softening only when she would look at him with that watery, lost look and break into a fresh round of sobs. He’d sat on the couch, with her curled into his side as she wept, he smoothing his palm over her curls soothingly, whispering quiet reassurances. But as her tears stained his shirt, he had stared out the glass door before them, thinking once again of how his poor life choices had ruined something good, something pure—her relationship with her parents.

Australia was in the middle of its winter, though it wasn’t remotely cold—simply cooler than when they’d arrived. They sat on her parents back patio. Hermione hadn’t wanted to leave to get take away or visit the market. It suited him just the same—he wasn’t hungry as he swallowed down the bile of regret in his throat.

They were seated in an oversized plush patio chair, her nestled between his legs, which were propped up on the base of the table. She had transfigured a blanket from his jumper and they were quiet under it when her parents finally emerged from hiding. They stepped timidly and awkwardly onto the patio and sat in the other two chairs. Hermione made to move to a different chair and Draco wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and held her firmly to him at his side, scrunched into one chair. He’d be damned if she would get too far away for him to catch her when she fell.

“We have decided that we’re staying here in Australia…it is much more pleasurable living here,” her mother said slowly, staring at the young couple with shrewd eyes.

Hermione nodded. “We…we have something more to tell you, too. We’re…moving to America,” she said, looking down at the table instead of at her parents’ disappointed expressions.

Her mother grabbed the little charm that had hung around her neck Hermione’s whole life—a small gold cross. Her mother touched that trinket when she was nervous or worried. Hermione may not have been particularly religious any longer, touting reason over faith, but seeing her mother’s old habit with her own eyes made her thank whatever Gods were above that she had managed to bring her parents back. At least now, they’d live truthful lives instead of in the foggy blur of obliviation.

“Together?” her father’s eyes narrowed.

“Together,” Hermione nodded and Draco’s arms tightened ever so slightly around her.

“I don’t see a ring on your finger,” Mr. Granger replied.

Draco cleared his throat. “Not on her finger. But I gave her a ring more precious to me and this union than any diamond ever could be.”

Hermione pulled the signet ring from beneath her shirt and flashed it to them. “This ring has ancient magic running through it. Love spells, protection spells, hexes to ensure fidelity. Magical families…at least of the pureblood variety…they give these rings to their eldest male heirs in hopes that the man will chose a mate. The Malfoys gave it to Draco in hopes he gave it to someone he loves,” she explained.

“This is far more than a promise ring or an engagement ring. This ring symbolizes an undying devotion to her and our relationship,” Draco finished.

Her parents were looking at them. From Hermione’s slightly guilty features to Draco’s earnest ones and back. “I still don’t understand how you came into the picture,” her mother finally said, her tone no longer combative but more exhaustedly curious. “You fought with the opposition.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully and clenched his jaw. “I did.”

“He had no choice!” Hermione tried to cut in, sitting up as she grew heated.

He tugged her back against his chest. “It’s okay, love,” he kissed her head and ran a thumb over her forearm.

Draco directed his attention at the Granger parents. “Hermione’s wrong—I had a choice. I chose to do what I thought I had to in order to keep my parents and myself alive. I was tasked with killing an innocent man and I failed to follow through. I was tortured at every turn and brought nearly to death on a few occasions in my life. But I had a choice. I chose to torture others, to sit while others were killed, to remain pitifully inactive as Hermione was tortured. I chose those options because the Dark Lord threatened to kill my mother. I wish every day that I would have made a different decision, that I had went to the Light earlier, begged for help. I would have received it, no doubt. But when you’re sixteen and the most evil wizard in the world is breathing down your neck, threatening to slit your mother’s throat, you do what needs to be done to ensure that threat never comes to fruition.”

Her parents were staring at him, their features screwed up in horrified disgust—not in him, but in his plight. “You were just a child,” Mrs. Granger said, eyeing him with pity.

“Yes…and now I am a man. A man who loves your daughter more than the waves love the shore,” he replied simply.

“Why America?” Mr. Granger asked apprehensively.

“We’re starting a sanctuary for magical creatures—a sister to the one in the UK. Not to mention, we need time together away from prying eyes and reporters, ” Draco stated.

Her mother wrinkled her brow. She was an animal lover, though apparently Monica Wilkins hadn’t been—there wasn’t a dog or cat anywhere inside. “What do you mean?”

“Hermione is something of a heroine,” Draco said with a bitter laugh. “And I’m something of a villain. Quite the pair.”

“I don’t like you being so exposed, Hermione. It’s dangerous,” Mr. Granger replied as his wife’s nimble fingers nervously scooted the charm around her neck back and forth across its chain.

“That’s why we’re going to go away for a while…it was hard enough at Hogwarts…we’ve only been together once in public since we got together and that was right before we came here. We don’t even know what kind of vicious story they’ve written about us when they snapped our picture,” Hermione said sadly.

“We don’t need to know every horrific detail of what happened in the last two years—I’m sure it’s very painful for either of you to speak about. But we need some information. Hermione—you should have come to us as soon as you were safe,” her mother said, dabbing her eyes.

“I wanted to…I just…I didn’t know if you’d ever accept me again,” Hermione was fully crying again.

“You’re our daughter,” Mr. Granger said, grabbing his wife’s hand. “You always will be, and we love you. We may not agree with what you did, but you did what you had to and kept us alive. We owe you some gratitude.”

He held out his arms in a manner that indicated he wanted a hug with his daughter. Hermione nearly flung herself at him and Mrs. Granger wept openly and ran a hand through her own curly top. Draco suddenly felt very awkward and out of place. “Excuse me,” he whispered and it fell on deaf ears.

He rose and went inside, a sob of his own caught painfully in his throat. He swallowed it down and went to the sink and poured a bit of water into a glass. The water was cool against his throat and he swallowed it in one gulp. He was truly elated for Hermione that her parents were at least willing to speak to her again. Perhaps he hadn’t ruined her life after all.

He stood leaning with his fists against the counter, his head down and breathing deep, even breaths. It was a few minutes later when he heard the door slide open and then closed. He expected Hermione but was instead surprised when Mr. Granger came in, his hands shoved into the pockets of his khaki shorts. “Perhaps we should have a talk. With regards to my daughter.”

He gestured his hand toward the kitchen table and Draco nodded before he went around the counter and sat at the table. There was a sweet smelling bouquet of flowers in a purple glass vase sitting in the middle, and the smell of the lilies was making him lightheaded. He trained his eyes on the subtle grain of the oak of the table and wrung his hands anxiously in front of him.

Mr. Granger cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Draco’s eyes shot up to him and he studied the man. Mr. Granger was looking more worn than Mr. Wilkins had that morning, but he still held the kindness, the attentiveness. Draco noticed that Hermione’s eyes weren’t her mother’s at all—they were his. “For what?”

“I don’t know exactly what happened to bring you two together. I can’t possibly begin to understand how my daughter goes from being tortured by your family to moving to a foreign country with you. But the love you have for her is evident—in the way you hold her, the looks you give her, the way you excused yourself to give us a few private moments though you looked as though letting her go was the last thing you wanted.”

Draco recoiled back slightly. Mr. Granger was every bit as perceptive as his daughter. Or perhaps, he wore his emotions more blatantly these days. Either way, Mr. Granger was looking at him with a grateful kindness. “Mr. Granger. I want to ask Hermione to marry me. I’ve wanted to ask her every day since we were in your house in London. It sounds crazy…but I knew she was the one for me, even then. I want your blessing to do so.”

Mr. Granger stared at him for a long moment, studying the young man’s features. “Marriage is a big step—a lifelong commitment.”

Draco nodded emphatically. “I know, sir. But I can’t imagine a day without her in my life. It would be no life at all. Even the thought of leaving her here with you while I find us a home in the United States is…painful, to say the least.”

“What if her life goals are not what you want in a spouse?” the elder man asked carefully.

“Then I will bend my expectation to fit her every whim. I want her. Plain and simple. Every single day of my life, until my heart stops beating in my chest,” he replied, his voice catching in his throat.

“You’re young.”

“I’ve seen and done far more in my life than people twice my age.”

“What will you bring to the table in a marriage?” her father asked.

He was asking him in a round about way how Draco planned to take care of her. He almost laughed, if the man wasn’t looking at him with a serious, questioning manner. Draco was far richer than he knew what to do with. “I have inherited my father’s money, company and home already. Hermione will never want for a single thing in her life.”

“There’s more to life than money,” the older man challenged.

“I will bring forth my entire heart and give it to her willingly. I have changed a lot in the last year and it is all because of her. I will love her, respect her, and dote on her ever whim and fancy. Because that is what she deserves,” Draco countered politely.

Mr. Granger looked at him carefully, mulling his answer over in his mind, tasting the sincerity in it. A small smile broke out on the man’s weather worn face and he held out his hand for Draco to shake. The wizard did so with a smile of his own. “Tell me, have you bought a ring yet?”

Draco shook his head. “I’ve been waiting to speak with you first.”

“Your choice was going to depend on our blessing?”

“Not necessarily. But I didn’t want to take the chance of you both hating me—or killing me—and her leaving me to appease you,” Draco admitted, looking back down at the table.

“Hermione’s far too stubborn for that. When she wants something, she won’t rest until she gets it,” her father pointed out.

Draco let out a laugh. That was too true. “Will Mrs. Granger approve?”

Mr. Granger shrugged slightly as he rose. “I suspect they are having a conversation similar to ours about how she needs to be careful. Probably telling her she’s far too young to be a mother—those responsibilities fall on you as well.”

Draco nodded and guiltily thought of how many times he’d already lain with Hermione. They were always careful, neither of them quite ready to share the other with a tiny human just yet. After her month in the moonlight leading up to their handfasting ceremony, they wouldn’t need contraceptive charms—their intertwined magic would keep her safe until her body and mind knew she was ready. The Pureblood in him begged for an heir, but the logical part of his brain knew that would be years away.

o-o-o

On his last day in Australia, Hermione took Draco shopping for some basic necessities. “You’re going to need notebooks and ink pens for school,” she stated matter-of-factly.

They shopped together for a while and she loaded all kinds of items into a basket for him. It hadn’t occurred to him before this that Muggles didn’t use parchment and quills. She loaded him up with multicolored tabs and pens and some kind of marker to highlight words and notebooks with metal spirals holding it all together.

“You need more Muggle clothes,” she told him after she’d shrunk their purchases and stowed them in her hideous beaded bag.

Draco looked down at himself, dressed in a cashmere black sweater and fitting jeans, dress shoes on his feet and a dragon hide belt to match. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“You look like some posh model. Except you’re wearing things Muggles don’t normally wear. Didn’t you see the looks you were receiving?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I’m used to odd looks.”

“Yes, well. Muggles don’t wear dragon hide…they don’t know dragons exist, Draco,” she said, looping a finger under his belt and pulling him closer as they walked through town. “They are more partial to leather.”

“Okay. So I’ll change my belt. Is there anything else?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well…your watch doesn’t really need to flash the constellations in the sky or the phases of the moon…” she replied.

“This watch was a gift from my father,” he said, looking at its face.

“I’m not saying throw everything away. But when you’re around Muggles, you’re going to have to look the part. And…try to only wear suits when you’re at work…nineteen year old men don’t typically sport such luxurious clothing. And no Quidditch jerseys,” she reminded him.

“So what would you have me wear, then?” he asked, growing agitated with the prospect of changing his appearance to suit Muggles.

“They’re not going to know what the Dark Mark is…they’ll think it’s some kind of strange tattoo. It’s hot in Louisiana, so you might want to get some short-sleeved shirts. Perhaps some new trainers,” she stated looking at his expensive Italian shoes.

They stopped in front of a storefront and a mannequin in the window was boasting an attractive pair of jeans and a crisp white button-up shirt. “Let’s go in here,” Hermione suggested.

Hermione pulled a reluctant Draco along behind her, groaning the whole way. Once inside, she went straight for a display of soft cotton shirts. He turned his nose up at the poor quality. “Don’t be so uppity, Malfoy. Try these on. And…do wear more than black. You’ve got such handsome features,” she said, handing him a stack of shirts in maroon, grey, white and blue.

She moved to a display of jeans. “I have no idea what your size is,” she stated, looking put out by this fact.

“I’ve never bought clothing that required me to know—I’ve always had a tailor custom make everything,” he returned, looking uneasy as he read a series of numbers on tags.

Hermione eyeballed a pair of jeans, holding it up to his waist to see and he looked around them to make sure no one was witnessing the embarrassing moment. “Try these on. We’ll find more once we have a better idea of your size. And pair them with the blue shirt.”

Draco rolled his eyes and humored her. As he changed in the fitting room, he looked at the pitiful smattering of scars all over his body. He pulled the shirt over his head and the jeans up over his hips. They were near perfect. His scarlet blemish showed on his forearm, bright against his pale skin. But he tried to look at it from the perspective of a Muggle. It did look like a strange tattoo, if one didn’t know the meaning behind it. He tousled his hair a little, trying to match the leisurely feel of the clothing.

“Well?” came Hermione’s small voice.

“Well…it should be illegal for one man to look this ravishing,” he replied, opening the door and leaning against the frame.

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. She’d seen him in Muggle-like clothes before, obviously. But those had been stitched together with magic and bought in Diagon Alley. These were normal, every day clothes that even she could afford. She enjoyed the normality of it on him much more than the finer quality items he typically wore. She felt more equal to him. The way the shirt accentuated his body in all the right places, the fact that he was wearing a soft blue that made the grey in his eyes seem brighter somehow, the way the Dark Mark looked less menacing against soft blue and pale skin. It all worked for him and she felt a small surge of pride in the fact that he was standing in a Muggle clothier, in truly Muggle-made clothing, his Mark on display instead of ashamedly hidden under layers.

Draco Malfoy had come such a long way.

He held out his hands as if to ask, “Is it okay?” Hermione nodded. “You look good,” she told him.

“We’ll have to magic the hell out of these garments. They feel ready to fall apart in my hands any second,” he quipped.

Maybe he hadn’t come too far. “They will not fall apart. I still have clothing from third year. You just can’t feel the spellwork binding the fibers and it unnerves you. You’ll get used to it,” she whispered to him.

He pursed his lips and retreated back into the room. She brought him a few more pairs of jeans and dress slacks and a couple of buttoned shirts in an array of colors and he spent the afternoon in the back corner of a deserted Muggle store, making a show of modeling to his witch. The clothier looked on at him in mild, bored amusement. But Hermione laughed and he enjoyed the sound of it, knowing that by the same time the next day, he’d be separated from her by oceans and continents.

“Don’t you think it ironic that I am going to be studying funeral services, yet there isn’t one stitch of black clothing in this pile?” he asked her as he placed everything on the counter to purchase.

“There’s a pair of black trousers in there somewhere,” she reminded him. “Not to mention…there’s no need to be so morose. I’m sure a grieving person wouldn’t mind if you’re wearing a pale rose colored shirt.”

He paid the clothier and grabbed his purchases, and Hermione until they were outside and around the corner before she shrank everything once more and stowed it in her bag. They passed a jeweler and Hermione pointed to the door. “Go in there and try to find a new watch. Nothing insanely expensive. Something normal. Maybe a nice one for when you’re wearing a suit and a more casual black rubber banded one for when you are…working with bodies…” the sentence seemed strange to her and he raised an eyebrow.

“And where are you going?” he asked her.

She pointed across the way. “Into that store…I have something I want to buy for you. A surprise.”

Draco raised both eyebrows. “I have everything I need.”

“Just go,” she said, giving him a little push toward the glass door of the jewelers.

He watched her retreating back as she crossed the road and then went into the store. There were lights from all angles, hundreds of diamonds shining in their midst. He looked through the window toward the store. His witch was nowhere in sight. Draco went up to a display of engagement rings and took a quick peek. There were round stones, square stones, multiple stones on some bands and single stones on others, yellow gold, white gold, platinum. “Looking for something in particular?” the jeweler asked him.

Draco eyed the case. “I was just looking, actually. Getting a feel for what you offer.”

“What exactly are you wanting?”

Draco huffed. What did he want? This ring would adorn his witch’s hand for the rest of her life. He needed something that fit her personality but was equally spectacular and suited to a Malfoy. “Something unique.”

The jeweler reached into the case and pulled out a ring with a large square diamond and small diamonds flanking either side. “How about this?”

Draco frowned at it. Far too plain and there were ten others just like it in the case. He peered over his shoulder once more toward the store across the street. “No. I don’t want a clear diamond. That’s far too ordinary.”

“How about emeralds?” the jeweler asked, stowing the ring back in its case.

Emerald. Like his former House. He shook his head. “No emeralds. No rubies,” he stated. They were adults now and those two colors held too much meaning to them in youth. He wanted a fresh start in adulthood.

He looked up when he saw a flash of curly hair bobbing across the street. “Shit. Abort mission. I’m supposed to be buying a watch.”

The jeweler followed his gaze and let out a low whistle. “She’s a beauty, mate. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Draco muttered, moving quickly to the case of watches.

He picked the first black-banded one he saw and the first dressy one he saw—stainless steel and black. Not platinum as he normally would have chosen. She would be proud of his split second choices. She entered the store just as the jeweler was pulling the dressy watch from its case. “Oh, you’re back,” Draco said casually, taking the watch from the man to try on.

“I got what I needed,” she smiled, holding up a rather large bag.

The watch fit his wrist perfectly and he gave it back to the man, who was smiling amusedly at him as he pretended to be caught up in the watch buying process. “I’ll take these two,” he said, smiling widely at the man.

o-o-o

Draco and Hermione lay in the bed, their breathing slowing after a passionate farewell encounter. She curled into his side, her leg draped over his and he traced his fingertips over her bare spine. “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” she whispered, her tone forlorn already.

“We’ll only be apart a little while…only long enough for me to find a home,” he said, pulling her into himself tighter.

“A home…I can’t believe this is finally happening,” she murmured. “So adult.”

Draco chuckled. “What kind of house do you want, little duck?”

She smiled at his pet name. “I love when you call me that…it’s so cutesy and so opposite of your usual persona…”

Draco smiled. “Oh you like that, huh?” he asked, pushing her back into the bed and climbing over her to straddle her legs.

He bent down and the sheet fell around his waist, bunched up on their lower half as he took her wrists in his hands. A playful glint shown in his eyes as he lowered his face. “What do you like most, hmmm? When I call you ‘Granger’?” he asked, bending down to kiss her neck, one hand pinning her wrists above her head, the other cupping her cheek.

“Or how about when I call you ‘Hermione’?” he asked and a shudder ran through her at his musical tone when he whispered her given name.

He kissed across one collarbone, nipping lightly when he got to the end, his hand pressed into the mattress by her head. She wiggled beneath his weight and he released her hands. She ran her fingernails over his abdomen and across his hips. “Or do you like being my little duckie?” he asked, purring the pet name into her ear as the knuckles on his other hand brushed her cheek.

She hummed a response and he smiled against her skin. “Duckie it is,” he said with a breathy laugh.

Draco sat back on her thighs and she looked up at him, adoration and sadness both evident on her features. “You never answered the question. What kind of home do you want?” he asked her in a serious whisper.

Hermione frowned. “Nothing ostentatious.”

Draco put a hand over his heart in feigned hurt. “Me? Ostentatious? You wound me, Granger.”

“I know you. You’ll find the largest house in Louisiana. Just rent a small flat. We don’t need much.”

Draco scoffed. “First off, Malfoy’s do not borrow anything from others, least of all a home. Secondly, I am not living in a tiny one room flat. I promise, nothing ostentatious. But I have standards.”

She poked his chest. “Just make sure I’ve got a library in that big ol’ house you’re envisioning.”

“Wouldn’t dream otherwise,” he replied with a grin, bending to place dozens of rapid kisses on her face and neck as she laughed and scrunched her face against his assault.

o-o-o


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Guest—I went back and had Hermione shrink stuff. He’s not supposed to have magic. I’m sorry. I went back three chapters to check. If there are remaining incidences, sorry. Crookshanks the Kitty—I searched for the story you recommended and I couldn’t find it. Please PM me a link or something. Anything that has him in that capacity, I’m interested in.  
> And, lastly, I’m sorry for the slow update this week. My personal life has been a wreck all week and I had no energy or time to write. Hopefully we get back on track now.

The next morning, Draco packed his truck with his new purchases as Hermione watched from the bed, her face morose. They hadn’t been apart since they started courted and it was a strange to think that they wouldn’t have one another to hold at night. Draco could share her feelings—the loneliness he’d felt earlier in life was starting to slowly creep back in. He tried to reassure them both that it wasn’t a long time to be apart.

“I’ve got a belated—really belated—birthday gift for you,” Hermione said, retrieving the items she’d purchased the day before, now wrapped in green and silver paper.

Draco raised an eyebrow and sat on the edge of the bed. “You didn’t need to get me anything.”

Hermione gave him an impatient wave. “Open it.”

Draco slid a thumb under the paper and tugged it off carefully. He tore off paper and found a cardboard box. He smiled and tore the tape from the box—wrapped the Muggle way. Inside was a Walkman and a stack of CDs. He pulled the items from the box. “What is it?” he asked, eyeing it uncertainly.

“Do you remember when we were in London and we were watching the Muggle films and you said you enjoyed the music? Well, this will play the music on these,” she explained, gesturing to each item in turn. “I looked at the Forrest Gump soundtrack and found you music from that era to listen to. This takes batteries. I put the first set in, but if it stops playing you have to go get more.”

“Batteries?” he asked, confused but smiling.

“In here,” she said, turning it over and popping the hatch to show him. “You’ll have to buy more.”

Draco was suddenly feeling emotional. She’d remembered he said he liked that Muggle music months ago. It was a simple gesture, but it was the start to a new life in the Muggle world. He was suddenly feeling overwhelmed—he didn’t know what something as simple as a battery was. How was he going to make it without her in a foreign country, in the Muggle world?

He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

Hermione gave him a sad smile. “You’re welcome. I bought you something else as well…but this is kind of a selfish gift, really,” she told him, handing him a small package.

He opened it slowly. Inside was a small box with a photo of a telephone on it. Except the telephone didn’t have cords. “It’s a mobile phone. I found one that could be plugged into American plugs. As soon as you get there, take it to a store for mobile phones and they will set it up for you. It would be wise to ask around for these types of places.”

Draco opened the box and retrieved the mobile phone. “I’ll be able to speak with you using this?” he asked, looking at her warily.

“Yes. I bought myself one as well. Here’s my telephone number, for now,” she said, pulling out an ink pen and wrote it on the outside of the box. “Dial those numbers in order and then hit this green button and you’ll be able to reach me. I’ll keep my phone on at all times, but you will be seventeen hours behind me. So when it is night here, it’s morning there.”

“How am I going to do this without you?” he asked her in a pained whisper.

“Confidently. I’m just a phone call away. And as you said, it’s not for very long,” she said, cupping his cheek with her hand.

She had tears running down her face as he packed his new items in his trunk and she shrunk it all for him until he could get his wand from Shacklebolt. He placed it in his old school bag and slung it over his shoulder. Draco leaned against the wall and put his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor in front of her. Hermione crossed the room and wrapped her arms round his waist, burying her face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her back and kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay, love,” he cooed, a single tear running hotly over his own cheek.

“I should just come with you now. I can’t do this,” she told him, her voice muffled by the cotton of his shirt.

He shook his head over her. “No. You need time with your parents alone and we shouldn’t both have to stay in temporary lodging. As soon as I have found a home, I will send for you as discussed.”

Hermione’s voice caught in her throat. “I don’t care if we live in a tent somewhere. Just find something quick. It’s only a year.”

“Patience, witch. Patience,” he teased before his smile fell.

He lifted her face with a finger under her chin. “I’m going to miss you. More than you know…I’m terrified,” he admitted.

“It will all be okay. Muggles are pretty simplistic and you’re so perceptive. You’ll acclimate in no time. If things get too rough, find a home in the wizarding quarter of New Orleans.”

Draco shook his head. “If I’m going to work as a Muggle, I’m going to live in a Muggle neighborhood. What if they ever needed to come to our home? It’s risky.”

Hermione pursed her lips but nodded. She was used to living in a Muggle world, but she was afraid of him being alone with so many uncertainties. “You’d better go, Kingsley’s waiting.”

Draco nodded and retrieved the carefully wrapped koala portkey from his pocket. Before he unwrapped it, he bent down to brush his lips against hers, wiping her tears with his thumbs. “Don’t cry, love. It’s all going to be okay. I’ll see you soon.”

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, reluctant to let her go. He breathed in her scent, all vanilla and freshly laundered cotton. It had once tormented him, but now it comforted him. The scent vibrated through his brain, clouding his senses and enveloped all rational thought. It was so her. “I’m going to miss you,” she told him, wiping her hands across her tear soaked cheeks.

She stepped back and Draco ran his fingertip over her bottom lip. “I love you,” he whispered wholeheartedly.

“I love you, too,” she replied, stepping far enough away from him that she wouldn’t be residually affected by his portkey.

He gave her one last forlorn smile, his bottom lip quivering as he touched the smooth metal of the koala. The last sight he saw of her was her crying uncontrollably as she hugged her arms around herself. Never before had he felt so helpless or saddened.

o-o-o

Draco landed on the dark drive leading up to Malfoy Manor, just on the outside of the tall iron fence. He looked around and saw Kingsley Shacklebolt leaning against the stone fence post. “My wand,” he said, extending his hand.

Shacklebolt crossed his arms and pursed his lips. “You’re ten minutes late.”

Draco stared at the man. “It was rather hard to leave Granger,” he admitted quietly.

The older wizard studied him for a moment and reached into the inner pocket of his robes. He handed the wand to Draco, who felt the magic course through the veins in his arms. He felt his shoulders slouch as he relaxed into the feeling of being powerful once more. “You’ve got thirty minutes. I’ll meet you back here,” the Minister told him.

Draco nodded and Apparated into his room in Malfoy Manor. He took the stairs down two at a time and found his mother in the library. She was already dressed for bed, her hair brushed out and smoothed instead of curled and primped. It clenched his heart to have to say goodbye to his mother as well. “Mother.”

She looked up to see her only son standing in the doorway to the library, wearing street clothes and thrusting his fingertips into his pockets. “Draco. I take it you’re getting ready to leave?” she asked, closing the book she’d been reading and stowing it on a table as she stood.

“I am,” he said, sighing heavily.

He met his mother in the center of the room and led her back to where she’d been seated moments before. “I wanted to speak with you about something.”

Narcissa looked severely at her son, who looked so like his father. It made her chest feel tight. Her son was now a man and she knew what he would say before he opened his mouth to speak, but she gave him the respect of saying it aloud. “Mother,” he said, kneeling in front of where she sat, “I’m going to ask Hermione to marry me. I don’t have a ring yet, but soon. I intend to ask her when she comes home to America.”

Narcissa clenched and unclenched her jaw, mulling the news over in her head as she looked at his beautiful face. “My little dragon…always so selfless when it mattered most. You deserve happiness. I can’t say I’m thrilled. But I will be as helpful as possible when it comes time to walk her through the moonlighting rituals and handfasting ceremony.”

“Thank you. If you would give her the chance, you’d see that she is an amazing witch…woman. She really is.”

Narcissa nodded. “I will try.”

Draco leaned forward and kissed his mother’s cheek. “Thank you.”

“I can’t stay for much longer. I’ve got to meet a MACUSA agent soon to register my wand. I just wanted to tell you the news and get your blessing. I have no doubt in my mind that you will turn this wedding into the largest, most extravagant handfasting in ten centuries,” he said with a small laugh and his mother dabbed at the corner of her eye.

“I will do my best. As soon as you have a date, you’d better owl me,’ she told him and he nodded.

“Love you, Mum. I’ll see you at Christmas,” he told her, rising to his feet and bending forward to kiss her cheek once more.

“Love you, my son. Take care of yourself,” she said, patting his cheek lovingly.

o-o-o

Draco landed in New Orleans, Louisiana, the small gold trumpet trinket that had served as his international portkey clutched tightly in his hand. The first thing he noticed was how stifling hot it was. Hermione had been right—the air was suffocating and thick here, damp and heavy around him. Bright sunlight poured down on him.

He looked around and he was in the middle of a booming wizarding quarter, bustling with American wizards—all wearing brightly colored robes and talking animatedly. A few people nodded politely at him as he walked straight toward the tall marble building before him. No one seemed to recognize him and he breathed a sigh of relief. England’s wizarding issues had remained blissfully, ignorantly unaware and overseas. He knew the moment would come when someone would recognize him, but for now, he was happy to be able to walk in the midst of the soft thrum of magic and not have anyone glare or spit in his direction.

Draco headed toward the Southern Compass of the MACUSA building, a slight smile on his lips. He couldn’t believe he was finally here, breathing the heavy, harsh air of the hot American south. Despite the heavy air, he finally felt like he could breathe. He entered the marble enclosure and went into the cool foyer of a grand building. A large seal adorned the floor and a few severe looking witches and wizards mulled about. “Where are you headed?” the closest wizard asked lazily, waving his wand over Draco to check for signs of Dark magic or Dark artifacts.

“Department of Wand Registration,” Draco replied curtly.

“Foreign or domestic?” the lazy wizard asked.

Even Americans had to register their wands? What were Americans so afraid of happening? “Foreign.”

“Down that hall, second door on the left. Fill this whole piece of parchment in before you go.”

He handed Draco a scroll and he stepped away from the receiving line and unrolled it. Pretty standard questions. He pulled an ink pen from his pocket and began filling everything in. Vital statistical information about where he’d gone to school, what his marks were like, when he was born, how long he’d been away from school. But Draco had to pause when he got to the last question. Have you ever been convicted of a crime?

He’d been convicted of many. Kingsley stated that the MACUSA knew of his arrival, that they’d agreed to let him in as long as he registered his wand and got a trace put on it. But this question was jumping out at him, stabbing him slowly. He’d been convicted of many crimes and he felt a wave of shame at the thought of what these foreign witches and wizards, so far removed from the War and world he’d left behind, would think.

He scribbled down a few of the finer points of his incarceration and probation. He carried the scroll to the room specified to him. There was a slight, mousy witch sitting at a desk ahead of him. “I’m here to register my wand.”

She took the scroll from him and tutted as she read over it. He grew nervous at the thought that he would not be able to stay in America—his crimes were just too severe. The witch pointed him in the direction of another door. “Go through there and see Geraldine Wright.”

Draco took his scroll back and headed in that direction. He knocked lightly in the door and opened it after a few moments of silence. There was an ancient looking witch of about three hundred years old sitting behind an even older mahogany desk. “Registering your wand, Mr. Malfoy?” she asked, holding out her hand to retrieve his paperwork.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and he sat across from her and retrieved his wand from his pocket.

He wondered how she knew who he was and feared he’d already been spotted by the first of many. “Kingsley told us to watch out for your stark white hair,” she answered as if reading his mind.

“It is my trademark,” he replied, running a hand through it absently.

“Really…I would have said your eyes,” she said, shrugging and stamping the documents with a magic stamp that flashed the seal and time and date alternatively.

Draco nodded politely. “You’ve got quite the rap sheet,” she commented. “You’d better feel lucky that you have such great friends in England. Without Kingsley Shacklebolt, I’m not sure you’d be standing here in America today. Your wand,” the witch told him, holding out her hand to take the wand from him.

He pursed his lips as he watched the witch place a trace on his wand. “If you perform a single unforgivable curse, we will know and you will automatically be shipped to Detria Penitentiary.”

She handed him the wand and a stack of papers to sign. He finally got out of the building an hour later, having signed away his whole life in order to stay in this strange country.

He walked back out into the bright sunlight and knew he had to get to the bed and breakfast to check in. Geraldine had given him instructions on how to get to the “No-maj” world and he followed the road down to the end, where he would climb into a glass elevator. The elevator would bring him into the center of an abandoned shopping mall and he would leave from there.

He thought of Hermione in that instant. She would be so at home, switching from magical living to Muggle living in no time at all. The thought was making him sick to his stomach with nerves.

Draco followed the instructions and made it to Muggle New Orleans within a few minutes. The streets were bustling and noisy, a mix of English, French and a language he didn’t quite recognize filling the air. The air, hot and thick, smelled of the most fragrant food. There were live jazz bands playing on street corners. The scene was chaotic and loud and tickled all of his senses as he fought to take it all in. He really needed Hermione.

o-o-o

A/N: Okay, a short chapter for you. Now that he’s said his goodbyes and did the legal work, the fun can begin—house hunting and starting school. Poor Draco is so lost without his girl and it’s only been a few hours. Let’s see how he holds up, shall we?

Please review. Support your fanfiction writers—this really is a labor of love. Fire and Ice was 162K words. The average novel boasts between 60K and 100K words. With the average number of words on a page, I figured Fire and Ice to be a 461 page book. That I wrote in a month and a half!

There are other writers who have done even more than that. It’s fantastic, but feedback is always wanted, appreciated and heartwarming. I love reading reviews that people have stayed up all night binge reading my stuff. That makes my day!

Review everything, every story you read, every writer you love’s work, always.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I confess I hated Fantastic Beasts. The only info I have on MACUSA I found on the internet. I will not watch FBAWTFT again, so from here on, it may be noncanon. But, this is fanfiction…so it is what it is. I take liberties where I please.

Draco knew right away that he was in way over his head. He had cleared out his private vault at Malfoy Manor and brought with him a separate shrunken trunk of close to five hundred thousand shrunken galleons. He had made the trip that morning to the American wizarding bank and got it all converted into American dollars and had close to three and a half million American dollars, tightly bound and nestled in the trunk stashed in his pocket. He knew that was an extravagant amount in the Muggle world, but it was a small amount compared to what he knew sat dormant in his vault at Gringott’s. How would he ever find a decent home and keep them afloat for the year on this? He’d have to duck into Gringott’s when he went home for Christmas…

After he left the bank, he made his way back into Muggle—No-Maj—New Orleans to find a store to activate his mobile phone. After wandering aimlessly, he finally stopped to ask someone, a weathered-faced man who was unloading fish from a truck. “Excuse me, sir,” Draco called to him.

The man, a crate of fish in his arms, turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you know where I can take this to make it…work?”

The man looked at the phone in Draco’s hand. “I think there’s a cell phone store up the way, next to the hot dog stand. I don’t have a cell phone myself,” the man said, gesturing straight down the road, turning back to his work.

Draco took off in the direction he’d nodded and wondered what in the bloody hell a hot dog stand was. He wandered the streets and saw a food cart parked on the side of the street, a completely unappealing photograph sporting promises of “Louisiana’s Best Hot Dogs.” He looked at the store just behind and noticed photographs of people talking on similar devices. He entered the store and looked like a deer in headlights as he stared around him.

“How can I help you?” a kindly looking man asked, walking up and shaking Draco’s hand.

Draco held out his cell phone dumbly. “I need to make it so I can talk to my girl in Australia,” he voiced simply.

The man nodded and smiled. “Not a problem. Give it here,” he said, taking the device and heading to a desk.

Draco sat across from him, warily eyeing the wall of phones. The man looked at him amusedly. “What brings you to the States?”

“University,” Draco stated.

“You came here for college? What on earth are you studying?” the man asked, pressing some buttons on his phone as he spoke.

“Mortuary sciences,” Draco said and the man looked up at him with a strange look.

It seemed that even in the Muggle world, the profession was an odd one. Fantastic. Something to make him stand out in his new place of solace. The man went over contract details and by the end of the explanation of options, Draco’s head was spinning. “Just give me the top of the line option. And I’ll pay a years’ worth at once. I just want to talk to my girl, mate.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Of course.”

Draco paid the man, a fairly low amount he thought, and the man handed him a piece of paper. “Here’s your new number. Memorize that—everyone will want a phone number from you.”

Draco nodded and shook the man’s hand before taking his leave. It took everything in him not to dial Hermione’s number—a series of numbers he’d already memorized overnight. He so desperately wanted to hear her voice, her gentle laugh. But he wanted to prove he could do this alone.

He needed to find a home and fast. He knew nothing of Muggle real estate trading, but he knew he would need an agent to help him. Luckily, there was a sign boasting just that at the end of the road. He entered and a receptionist looked up at him and raised an eyebrow, suddenly flustered and smoothing her hands over her skirt. “How—How can I help you?”

Draco nearly smirked. His good looks and charm would clearly help him get by here in the States a whole lot more than even back home. “I want to purchase a house. I need help.”

“We usually work by appointment—” she began, but she was cut off by another woman coming from a back office.

“Nonesense, Beth. I’m not busy at the moment. Hello, I’m Crystal,” she said, flashing a wide set of pearly whites when she smiled and extended her hand.

“Draco,” he stated, shaking her hand.

“Dray-co? That’s unusual. Well, Draco, why don’t we head back to my office and we can talk a little bit?” she asked, turning to head back into her office with a wave over her shoulder indicating he should follow.

She poured him a glass of water and set it on the desk in front of her and gestured for him to sit. “So…tell me a little bit about yourself,” she started, leaning forward entirely too coyly for his liking.

“How about we just get down to business?” he asked, ignoring her stares.

“A man of few words. I can appreciate that. Well…have you gotten preapproved with the bank yet?” she asked, turning professional at his unenthused tone.

“I’m paying cash.”

“Cash? For a house? Okay…how much are you looking to spend?” she asked him, raising an eyebrow, seeming uninterested now.

“I have no intention of laying my cards all on the table, madam. How about you show me some homes and I’ll tell you when I’m comfortable?” he replied, suddenly nervous that he didn’t have near enough money to buy anything decent.

She stared at him long and hard. “How old are you? Twenty maybe? There’s no way you are walking in here with cash enough to purchase a home outright. So why are you wasting my time?”

“First of all, I have inherited billions of dollars from my father by way of accounts, liquid assets and tangible assets. I may not be as shrewd as he in ways of business, but I’m certainly not stupid, either. I am going to live here for little more than a year, but I want a decent home for my fiancée and I to share. She wants to rent something. Perhaps, if this is how you real estate agents are, I should heed her advice,” he said, rising angrily.

He was not used to having his fortune called into question and it wounded his pride some. “Wait. Sit down,” she called as he opened the door to go.

“Why, so you can insult me some more?”

“I apologize for my rash prejudgments. I will try to help you to the best of my abilities,” Crystal stated, looking slightly less put out.

She still eyed him as though he was lying but she was simply humoring him. He sat down and folded his arms across his chest. “Well?”

She sighed. “What kind of home are you looking for?”

Draco reached into his back pocket and pulled out a photograph he’d torn from a Muggle magazine in France a few years prior. “This.”

The woman took the photo from him and raised both eyebrows. “You want to purchase a plantation style home to live in for one year?”

“Absolutely. I grew up in a Manor ten times that size in Wiltshire,” he shrugged.

“Any specifications on what it should have?” she asked, shaking her head.

“A room large enough to house a small library. And a large master suite. Other than that, I don’t care,” he stated, unsure of what else he should want.

“There are only a few homes like this for sale in the area—most are passed down generations. We can schedule tours with the home owners if you’d like.”

“Please. I’m getting ready to start school next week and I really want to get out of the bed and breakfast and bring my girl home to me,” he said, looking as she slid a large binder in his direction.

“Let me show you what we have to look at,” she told him. “I’d try to get this on the computer, but the dial up is being ridiculously slow today.”

Draco didn’t know or care what a computer was. He was feeling overwhelmed once more, the prospect of selected something so important alone weighing on him. He was just nineteen and had no experience outside of War and school. He didn’t know the first thing about any of this.

“This first one here is a classic plantation style. It’s fifty-five hundred square feet with a master bedroom on the first and second floors. Three bathrooms. A large kitchen,” she pointed to different photos.

The home was clean cut, white brick with tall columns. But there was no distinct porch, too many flowers and not enough trees. It was a little too much like the Manor. “No,” he said simply.

“Okay,” she flipped the page. “How about this? Five thousand square feet. Master suite on top floor, large play area that could be converted with some creativity to a library.”

The home was two stories and on this one, the porch was much wider than the house, giving it an oddly bottom heavy shape. “No.”

“Draco. You need to look at different homes, get a feel for what you like,” she told him, flipping a page.

The next home was right up his alley. Three stories high with a grandiose round entryway, a large porch on the first and second stories. It had columns running up the front of it. Hermione would hate it. “No.”

The realtor sighed impatiently. “Are you going to look at a single home?” she asked.

“When you find one worth showing me,” he stated, grabbing the pages and using his thumb to flip through them lazily.

One caught his eye and he had to go back three pages to find it. But once he did, he knew it was the one. It was two stories, white clapboard siding wrapping the entire house. It had slate blue shutters and a tin roof in the exact same shade. A large porch wrapped around the perimeter of the house with two gazebo-like areas for entertaining on either side. The front door was an inviting red and the grounds were manicured neatly, a few shrubs dotting the front. A long drive led up to the house, trees lining both sides. Spanish moss hung from the ancient, knotty branches. “This one.”

“Well, that one has a bid on it already…” the agent said slowly.

“I don’t care. That’s the one. I will go above asking price,” he said, tapping the page with his hand.

“Do you want to know anything about it?” she asked.

“You can tell me…I don’t care. That will be my wife’s home,” he said, realizing for the first time that he was already referring to her as his wife.

“It’s right under fifty-four hundred square feet, including the hideaway on the third floor. It has a large room on the ground floor that could be converted to a library and a master suite on the second floor. The floors are the original hardwood and the bathtubs are the original claw-foot iron basins. The kitchen is newly remodeled, with a brand new chef style oven.”

The specifications at the bottom of the page stated the house was selling for just over a million dollars. “I will pay fifty thousand over this price. In cash.”

“I’m going to need a bank statement reflecting your balance.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I don’t deal through a bank. I have physical stacks of paper money.”

The woman looked at him. “Do you deal drugs? Why the hell don’t you go through a bank?”

“My money is my business, especially in a foreign country,” he stated, thinking of the stacked vaults at Gringott’s once more.

“This is highly unconventional,” she stated, pursing her lips.

“Make the offer.”

“Don’t you want to see the home first?” she asked.

“I can—when I go to sign it over to my name,” he stated.

“What if they don’t take the offer?”

“With all due respect, madam, I know what I want and I always get what I desire,” he said, standing and pulling out the slip of paper with his telephone number on it.

“I’m staying at La Petite Maison Bed and Breakfast until I can find permanent residence. I will be available at this number,” he said, writing the number down on top of the photograph of the home he hoped would be his soon enough.

He trained his grey eyes on her crystal blue ones. “Make the offer and get back to me. I’ll be patiently awaiting your return call.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out into the bright sunlight. He would use a Confundus Charm on the homeowners if necessary. That home was idyllic and screamed old money. It was totally opposite his Manor back home in England—a dark and dreary place even on the sunniest of days. This home radiated warmth and comfort.

He wanted to pay a visit to the nearest jewelers, but he knew he needed to break up stressful tasks over a few days in order to not become more overwhelmed than he already was. It was nearing two in the afternoon and that meant it was seven am in Sydney. He desperately wanted to hear his witch’s soft reassurances in his ear. He pulled out that infernal device and pressed each number he’d memorized before hitting the green button. He could hear it faintly ringing in his hand and he put it against his ear, hoping he was holding it right in the middle of the street with Muggles all around.

“I thought you’d never call!” her angelic voice came from the plastic in his ear.

Draco nearly burst into tears at the sound. “Hey, love…I miss you.”

“How was your first night?”

How was his first night? Desolately lonely. “It was okay. The Bed and Breakfast is…quaint.”

“Better than the Lady of London?”

“Nothing will ever be as good as the place where we fell in love,” he replied, starting to walk slowly through the street toward the B&B.

“What have you been doing today?”

“I went and got this infernal thing activated and then I went to a real estate office,” he said, stepping into the Victorian style home.

“Oh? And did you see something you like? Some gigantic monstrosity of a home that is way too extravagant for what we need?”

Draco rolled his eyes and smiled as he entered his empty room. “I did see one I hope to purchase.”

“And is it a billion square feet?”

“No. Just over five thousand.”

“That’s huge! Why do we need a house that size for one year?”

“It’s smaller than my personal wing at the Manor,” he stated exasperatedly. “Will you hush? I promised it won’t be ostentatious, and this home isn’t. It’s got all of the appeal of the American South without all of the pomp and circumstance of English castles and manors.”

“So you found a home on your first day there? Impressive.”

“Well, it’s not ours just yet. But I did offer them more than they asked for. A good deal more.”

“Why on earth would you do something like that?”

“I want this home. I can see us raising children in this house.”

Hermione was silent on the other end for a moment. “Draco, it’s one year.”

“Perhaps. But you never know…how are things with your parents in my absence?”

“It’s been great. I’ve gone to the floral shop with them. They’ve decided to keep their pseudonyms for now…I never expected them to stay in Australia and we can’t possibly explain a sudden name change to everyone they know.”

“You saw how happy they were there. I’m sad for you that they’ll remain there, but I really do think it’s what was best for them. At least for now.”

Hermione was silent again, her steady breathing the only hint that she was still on the other line. “You still with me?” he asked, growing concerned.

“Yeah…I’m here…just hearing your voice is…”

He could hear her sniffle and felt a pang to his heart. He felt the same way. Just hearing her voice brought a mixture of pain and comfort. “Please don’t cry…we knew it could be a month or more…we prepared for that. I’m trying everything to get you here much sooner.”

“I just want to come home. I love my parents, but it just isn’t home here.”

“I am hoping these Muggles will take my offer. Hermione…it’s a beautiful home, but it would be made even more beautiful with you in it…I’ll have to get it decorated, of course…what do you want it to look like?” he asked, trying to distract her.

“I’m not much on interior design…just no Slytherin green or Gryffindor scarlet…we’re adults now.”

“Agreed. I’ve lived on a dark, depressing home for so long…I just want something light…”

“I don’t want to hang up…but I was heading to breakfast with my parents.”

He sighed. “Of course. You go and spend time with them. There will be plenty of time for us when you get here.”

“My father wanted to accompany me on a plane to make sure I arrive safely and to see where I’ll be living…would that be okay with you?”

“Sure. The house will have plenty of rooms. You’ve spent years without them and I want you to have all the time you need,” he told her genuinely.

It comforted him to know that her parents were coming around once more and their relationship was slowly being repaired. He would do anything in the world to make his witch happy.

“I love you,” her voice was mousy and cracking.

“I love you. More than you know. Call me before you go to bed,” he said and he reluctantly hung up after she agreed.

It was still early in the evening, but he wanted nothing more than to go to bed and sleep away the loneliness he was feeling. He still had much to do before school began—ring shopping, getting the house secured, getting it decorated in a timely fashion, buying all of his textbooks. The thought of it all made him ill. He just wanted his witch.

o-o-o

It was four days before Draco heard back from Crystal. Four excruciatingly long days where he did nothing but lay in bed and ignore all responsibilities he had looming over him. He would break up the monotony twice a day to find nourishment, but spent very little time outside of his room at the bed and breakfast, the curtains drawn to match his depressed mood.

He knew the way business negotiations worked—the first person so crack would be the loser. He desperately wanted to know if the Muggles had accepted his offer but he refused to buckle first. He was lying in bed, his face itchy with four days growth, his heart heavy with Hermione’s absence. He really needed to get to the Tibideaux-Marteen Mortuary School and retrieve his books before classes began in a few short days.

Draco was trying to work up the will to exit his bed when his phone rang shrill through the silence. The number that flashed on the screen was not Hermione’s. “Hello?” he asked uncertainly.

“Draco—Crystal Brighton. I heard back from the homeowners about the home on Mulberry Lane.”

“Are they going to accept my offer?” he asked impatiently.

“Make it seventy-five over asking and you own yourself a new house.”

“Why so much?” he asked, uncaring really.

“They were already in negotiations with someone else. But that person backed out at seventy-five over asking. If you don’t accept, it’ll go back to them,” she explained.

“I’ll pay it. When can we get in?”

Crystal laughed. “The home is empty, so we need to sign the papers and get it inspected. But I’d say within the week.”

“One million, one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars? In hundred dollar bills?” he asked, looking to his shrunken money trunk sitting atop the desk.

“For Christ’s sake, Draco. Go open a banking account and get a damn check. And don’t forget my fees on a separate check,” she said with a laugh.

“Will do,” he replied, writing instructions and amounts down, wondering what in the bloody hell a check was.

He put the phone down and fist pumped in the air, feeling joyous for the first time since he’d arrived in New Orleans. His dream home would be theirs in only a few short days.

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Obviously this house buying process was wildly inaccurate. But this is Harry Potter fan fiction, not HGTV. They need a home and quick. His girl will be home in a couple of chapters, I think. We’re getting into the good parts now!  
> Please, review, review, review!  
> Thank you for all of your support! It means so much to me!


	9. Chapter 9

The first day of classes and the day Draco was to sign the papers for their new home happened to fall on the same day. He’d gone to the Muggle bank and sat with some elderly man who had set him up a banking account and gave him the necessary checks he needed (how strange that Muggles trade in nothing more than a single slip of paper) and some piece of plastic that the banker told him would be the future of sales transactions. He could pay for all of his purchases with nothing more than that card. The Muggle banking system boggled his mind and if he wasn’t already hell bent on attending Mortuary School, he thought he would have enjoyed working in the banking industry.

He’d also met repeatedly with a team of Muggle designers that Crystal had recommended. They’d poured over the photos of the home for hours and the team had drawn up sketch after sketch of what the rooms should all look like. He’d spent nearly an hour picking out paint colors from a gigantic binder of swatches. He’d offered to pay them twice their going rate if they could complete the work in a weeks’ time. They’d begun buying furniture already, storing it in their warehouse on his dime. Draco didn’t care about the money, however. There was plenty more where that came from. All he wanted was to create a solace for his witch, a place where, for the first time in years, she could finally feel calm and peaceful and safe.

He still hadn’t told Hermione that the Muggles had accepted his offer—he didn’t want something to come along and ruin it. The disappointment in her voice would be unbearable and heart wrenching. She was missing him just as much as he missed her—with each time they spoke on the phone she expressed more and more frequently her desire to be home. Home, he’d learned, wasn’t a place, but a person.

Draco dressed slowly for his first day at school. When he’d gone to retrieve all of the textbooks from the schools’ bookstore, he’d also received a copy of his class schedule, a booklet containing the dress code and ethics code and a map of TMMS. He was taking a heavy course load in an effort to turn two years of schooling into one and knew he also needed to get going on finding an apprenticeship—the other half of his requirements to be licensed.

He decided on a light pink shirt that Hermione had selected for him and paired it with a light grey three-piece suit. His tie was pink and silver plaid and he thought overall, he looked the part. He dragged the cheap Muggle watch onto his arm and slid basic silver cufflinks through his French cuffs. As he pulled on his jacket, he felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach. He’d felt that same flutter as they rode the rowboats up to Hogwarts his first day. But after that, he’d grown used to Hogwarts. He was getting ready to walk into a school filled with Muggles, all of whom had a much better handle on the world around them.

Draco had purchased a leather satchel to stow his books and notebooks in and had used an extension charm and a feather-light charm to keep the seams from busting under the weight of three textbooks. He took one last look in the mirror at himself—the ensemble he wore was so unlike his stark black wardrobe that he had to smile. The grey of the suit made his eyes even greyer and the rosie hue of the shirt and tie softened his features. Even though it was a suit made of lesser quality materials than he was used to, Hermione would be so proud of it. The thought made him smile and as if on cue, his phone rang in his pocket.

“Why, hello to the most exquisite witch I have ever laid eyes on,” he said in greeting, his tone playful despite the dragonflies in his belly.

“I know you’re getting ready to head to your first day. I just wanted to wish you luck—I know you’ll do great!”

His heart swelled at the pride in her voice, the gentle reassurance that he was going to be all right. “I’m nervous as hell,” he admitted.

“I know. But you’re a good man and this is a noble profession. I didn’t want to keep you long. I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

He smiled and let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I love you, too. I’ll bring you home soon, I promise.” Like one week from now if everything goes well tonight.

“I certainly hope so. Okay…go now! Classes start soon.”

Figures Hermione would worry about his punctuality from afar. He hung up and stowed the phone in his pocket once more. He had scoped out a good place to Apparate a little ways into the wooded area to the side of the school. He thought of that shady path and Apparated.

When he landed, the school was bustling with other professionally dressed individuals. Many were getting out of automobiles and a wave of panic hit him when he caught sight of a row of black, elongated vehicles. He’d only ever seen pictures of hearses before and it hadn’t crossed his mind until this particular moment that he would be required to drive one. He needed to get his driver’s license, and pronto.

Draco stalked up to the school, pausing only briefly to peer into the curtained windows of one of the hearses. As nervous as he was at the prospect of learning to drive, these vehicles were inherently pretty and dignified and he felt a little giddy at the idea of getting behind the wheel of one. He continued his way into the large brick structure, listening amusedly to the American lingo around him.

He was taking six classes this semester, broken into two very long days. His first class of the day was something called ‘Thanatochemistry.’ He ventured that this was some kind of theory taught in relation to chemistry—which he gathered to be similar to Potions. His heart was thrumming, the ideas of everything he didn’t know making his stomach roll. This must have been how Granger felt, going into a magical school after being raised a Muggle. The thought sobered him some.

Draco had memorized the paths to each of his classes and he sauntered into the classroom with a few minutes to spare. He looked around and was surprised to see students of all ages—from his age up to grey-haired, elderly individuals. He took a seat at a table alone and placed his bag on the desktop. The classroom had bright lights overhead and the stale smell of being closed up for the last month. He sat straight in his chair, his chin held high in the aristocratic way that came so naturally to him. He fished his chemistry book out of his bag as well as the notebook he’d designated for this class. He had taken a leaf from Hermione’s book and decided to color coordinate his notebook, binder and notecards to keep all of the subject matter straight.

He placed his bag beneath the table, leaning down to retrieve an ink pen. When he came back up, he heard a bubbly laugh ring through the corridor outside the door and then the most beautiful redheaded woman he’d ever seen strolled in, laughing with someone who looked similar to her. Her hair wasn’t Weasley orange—no, it was a deep, rich auburn that glinted beneath the headband that held it in place. Her skin had no freckles and was alabaster and porcelain, her cheeks rosy with life. She was wearing a form-fitting suit of black, a string of pearls around her neck and wrist. She reeked of old money.

The woman glanced around and was getting ready to head to an empty desk when her eyes locked with Draco’s. He knew he should look away, but he was mesmerized by her momentarily. She smiled widely and sashayed in his direction. She sat primly next to him and he cleared his throat, looking straight ahead now. “Hi,” she said, leaning into him and bumping his shoulder with hers. “I’m Natalie LeRoux, of the LeRoux-Mounier Funeral Parlor family.”

That explained her wealthy glow and haughty attitude. Her voice was charming, her Southern accent classy and sophisticated. Draco looked over at her and flashed her his most charming smile. “Draco Malfoy.”

She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Hmm…that accent is certainly different…whereabouts are you from, Draco Malfoy?”

“Wilshire, England. I suppose I stick out some, huh?” he asked pleasantly.

“In more ways than one,” she said and he knew she was flirting with him.

He pulled his gaze away from her and a wave of guilt hit him. He should treat her coldly, tell her to piss off. But he didn’t want to create tension with his new classmates—especially ones with ties to potential employers. Lucky for him, the Professor came in then. “Good morning, everyone. I trust you all slept well last night? For many of you, that was your last good night of sleep!” the short, stout man trilled.

He set his briefcase down as a few students laughed. “I know that most of you are brand new to our program here at Tibideaux-Marteen, so I’d like to be the first to welcome you all! I am Professor Blanchard and this is Thanatochemistry—the study of the chemical processes the human body goes through after death. This course will be rigorous, as you all are in an accelerated program and we have no time to waste! Without further adieu, let us turn to page 3 in the books and get started!”

The man was bursting with energy as he drew diagrams on the chalkboard. Draco was careful to take notes and recreate the drawings just as the little man did. He understood very little of what was being said, but knew he would catch on if given the opportunity to look over his notes again. Next to him, Natalie was sitting with her ankles crossed, her hands folded on her desk, listening intently. He envied her apparent ease.

When the class ended, Natalie stood and gave Draco a warm smile as he packed his bag. “So, have you found an apprenticeship yet?” she asked, her charming voice lilting.

He shook his head. “I haven’t had much time between getting here and house hunting.”

“Ah, yes…you must have bought the house on Mulberry—our mother is a real estate agent with Crystal. She’d heard of a strangely attractive Brit coming in and buying that big ol’ house with cash,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she turned to exit the class with the boy she’d entered with.

Draco noticed for the first time that the man was her twin, though not identical. “This is Nathaniel,” she said, pointing over her shoulder at her twin. “Now, let’s hurry before we’re late to Comp.”

Draco’s next class was English composition and he gathered that this class would assist him in writing obituaries and even eulogies if necessary. He sat through this class, a dull material taught by a dull woman named Professor Baggs. He could more eloquently speak and write English than any American he sat beside in class.

Finally, at one the classes broke for lunch. He was to sign the papers for the house that evening and he found that he wasn’t hungry for all the anxiety he felt. It was nearing five in the morning in Australia, and he wondered if Hermione was awake. He felt a stab of guilt at the thought of his reaction to Natalie. He had no real interest in the girl and he should have made that better known. Draco desperately missed his girl.

He was sitting in the school’s courtyard, organizing the notes he’d taken in his two previous classes and began making flashcards. The air was stifling hot, and even the breeze that blew was warm and unforgiving. He took his suit coat off and looked around before he rolled up his sleeves. Muggles will just think it’s a strange tattoo. He hoped so. He pushed his hair away from his forehead and whispered a cooling charm, sighing in relief at the feel of the cool against his heated skin.

He was reading the chapter in his Thanatochemistry text, leaning forward on his thighs on the stone bench. He retrieved a green apple from his satchel and absently ate it as he read. It was nearing time to head back inside when a shadow was cast over his textbook. He looked up and saw the beaming face of Natalie LeRoux. “That’s an odd tattoo…it looks almost burnt into your skin,” she said, running a freshly manicured acrylic nail over it.

Draco withdrew his arm and rolled his sleeves down. “I think we’d better head inside.”

He stood and retrieved his suit coat, swinging it over his shoulders and pulled it up his arms. “Are you busy after school today? I thought Nathaniel and I could take you out and show you some of what the Crescent City has to offer,” the auburn haired beauty offered.

“I’m busy,” he replied. “I’ve got to leave as soon as class is over.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Well…in that case, I wanted to give you this. My daddy is looking for another apprentice. He’ll be back in the office Friday, so why don’t you call him first thing in the morning—I’ll put in a good word for you in the mean time,” she finished, a wide smile in her face as she handed him one of her father’s business cards.

Draco really needed the apprenticeship. But he needed to be around Natalie like he needed a hole in the head. She was beautiful and she was tossing herself at him. And it made him truly uncomfortable. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think about it too long. We’re in class with fifteen other newbies, all out hunting for apprenticeships in a city with a tight-knit funeral service community. Apprenticeships are going like hotcakes,” she said, and she turned to go back into the school for their last class of the day—Anatomy.

Draco sat through an enthralling three hour lecture on all of the bones of the human body given by a homely looking woman named Professor Sprocket. She had a skeleton hanging on a hook and gestured down as she named each one. She’d passed around detailed diagrams of each section of the body for them to fill in for homework. Draco thoroughly enjoyed this class the most out of any for the day. Professor Sprocket was wry and had a dry sense of humor he could appreciate. And the subject matter was fascinating to him. He’d spent time healing many bones, but never studying them, their infrastructure and material matter.

When the bell chimed five, his classes were finally over and he nearly ran to his Apparating spot in the woods, watching over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching him. He pictured very clearly the home he’d only seen in pictures and he was sucked in and tossed out on the street a ways down, out of eyesight of any other humans.

Draco walked in the direction of the house and when he found the address, he looked up at what was to be their new home. It was even better in person and he couldn’t wait to get a stone wall built around the front perimeter, an intricate wrought iron gate. Crystal was already waiting for him, a stack of papers on the hood of her car.

She smiled when she saw him, but then furrowed her brow. “Did you walk here?” she asked, searching for a cab or a car.

Shit. “The taxi dropped me down the road a bit.”

She nodded and gestured to the giant stack of papers in front of her. “Why don’t we go in and take a look at the house, then we’ll sign everything?”

He nodded, eager to finally go in. Crystal smiled at his enthusiasm. “Well come on, then.”

She retrieved a key from her pocket and Draco began to vibrate with excitement. They walked up the long drive to the home, a canopy of ancient branches and Spanish moss shading their way. The porch was spacious and Draco could easily see his picturesque porch swing in his mind’s eye. Crystal unlocked the door and opened it, gesturing with a wide smile dramatically. “Take a look around. I’ll wait here.”

Draco stepped into the empty home. The walls were dark—no worries, he’d picked something lighter and airier. The floors were a dark cherry colored wood and he enjoyed the sound of his shoes clicking over it. The area he stepped into was a large room he knew would be the living area. The house’s specification sheet had given the dimensions of each individual room and the designers had big plans on how to rearrange his new furniture in this room.

He went into the kitchen—devoid of all appliances. The designers had coerced him into ordering all of the usual Muggle contraptions in something called stainless steel. Draco thought, as he stared around the spacious area, that he would quite like to try his hand at cooking for Hermione. He could easily see her wearing an apron and leaning over the large marble top island.

He went out the French doors at the back of the kitchen and the back porch opened up into a huge parcel of land, the woods beyond. The yard against the house was well manicured, hydrangeas lining the entire length of the house. He smiled to himself. It was so beautiful. He went back inside and peeked into a large room that would likely serve as Hermione’s home library. The designers had big plans for this room, too. He went up the stairs and nearly skipped into the large, airy bedroom, the French doors leading to the balcony beckoning to be opened on a warm Southern night. The bathroom was spacious and was the only room in the entire house that they had planned to gut and redesign. There were three more bedrooms—two guest with a jack and jill bathroom in between and an office of sorts. He went back into the master bedroom and looked in the closet where he knew a spiral staircase was nestled. He climbed the winding wood stairs and when he got to the top, he peeked into a small room, large enough to stand in and for a comfy couch and lamp and not much else—Hermione’s hideaway.

Draco was giddy as hell when he returned down the stairs. “Let’s sign. My designers will be here soon to start working.”

Crystal laughed and they went into the kitchen to sign everything on the counter tops. Draco wasn’t even listening, merely initialing and signing where she indicated. The homeowners had signed their part that morning with her. When they finished, Crystal brandished an elaborately wrapped key and a bottle of wine. “Congratulations, Mr. Malfoy. She’s all yours.”

Draco emphatically shook her hand just as the doorbell rang—a deep tinkling chime that made him smile widely. The designers—a team of ten people, were all waiting with large, rolled up blueprints and design drawings. They would renovate that bathroom over the first three days, paint on the fourth and fifth and move all of the furniture in on the sixth. Hermione would be home on the seventh day—he would see to that.

The team was all atwitter as they looked over every square inch of the house. He went onto the back porch and pulled out his mobile and dialed Hermione’s number enthusiastically. It was lunchtime in Australia and she picked up on the first ring. “Hey! How was your first day?” her voice was enthusiastic and Draco could hear the bustle of the street outside of her parents’ floral shop in the background.

“Forget school for a moment—it was brilliant, by the way—I have even better news,” he said, barely able to contain his excitement.

“The Muggles finally accepted the offer?” her voice was hopeful.

“No—they accepted the offer a week ago,” he replied sheepishly—“And you never told me?!”—“I am currently standing on our new back porch, looking out over acres of land at 329 Mulberry Lane, Slidell, Louisiana.”

“Slidell?”

“It’s about…forty minutes outside of New Orleans…but I’ll make the trip to work and school every day if it means this is our home…that reminds me…I need a driver’s license. The Muggles are getting suspicious that I pop out of nowhere, not to mention I forgot all about hearses.”

“Of course. When can I come home?” she sounded equally as excited.

“Monday. I will be out of school at five. I know you need to get tickets to fly on that aeroplane so try to arrive by six. We have one hour to get your wand registered after you arrive.”

Hermione let out a loud screeching noise of excitement in his ear and he held the phone at arms length, laughing heartily. “Are you excited to come home, love?” he teased.

“I cannot wait…I am going to jump your bones you silly, silly man. I can’t believe you managed this so quickly!”

If he could see her, he had no doubt she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, bubbling with excited happiness. The thought warmed his heart and made him feel emotional once more. He missed his witch ever so tenderly.

o-o-o

Draco pocketed the small black velvet box he’d just retrieved from Magical New Orleans’ finest jewelers. He’d spent hours deliberating over which ring would look perfect perched atop his witch’s finger for the rest of her life. He’d pulled every ring out of the glass counter, closely examined each gem, run continuous spells over them all to ensure quality and magical capabilities. The jeweler had done his part in imbuing the ring with every protective spell he knew. Draco would finish the job with ancient magic of his own.

He retrieved some take out and headed up to his room at the bed and breakfast. It was Thursday—the design team was moving the bathtub into the newly designed bathroom at the time. Four days until Hermione was to arrive. Draco retrieved his Psychology of Death and Dying textbook and took his food and homework out onto the balcony outside of his room. He nestled into the patio chair and put his feet up on the table. The room overlooked the bustling Bourbon Street nightlife and the sounds of a melodic jazz quartet filled the air. People were cheering and singing and dancing in the streets below and the sound of it filled him with a calm peace. He took a sip of beer from the dark green glass bottle, a bite of his Andouille sausage and rice, writing a note here or there between bites. He missed Hermione something fierce, of course, but he couldn’t remember a time in his life when he’d been happier.

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gah! I love houses so much. I’ve been pinteresting his house all day!  
> This is getting so fresh. Not a whole lot of England problems lingering. Only their horizon spread out before them.  
> Please review! Tell me what you think, what you want to see happen, what you think will happen, concerns, etc. Thank you for the support you’ve already given me.  
> You can find me on tumblr at themourningmadam. I’ve had a few people PM me or message me on tumblr. I love to chit chat!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, ye of little faith. Shame on you all for not believing in our man. I urge you to go back and reread the last 42 chapters of this story. This has been the tale of the slow burning redemption arc that Draco Malfoy deserved and never got. Tsk tsk to you all.  
> This does not, however, mean that Natalie won’t still be an issue.

On Sunday night, Draco walked through their home, inspecting every little detail of it. The design team had done an immaculate job. They still had the little items—dishes, bric-a-brac, bedding—to finish the final touches while he was in school the next day. But the house would be finished—his girl would be able to walk into it, fresh and finished. Draco’s heart swelled.

The double chef’s style stove and all of the other kitchen appliances had been installed and he ran his hand fondly over the shiny silver surfaces. Draco had been living like a bachelor for the past three weeks—all of his meals had been bought in one of two restaurants and he’d eaten alone in his room each night. He really needed to go out and purchase some food. He’d passed by the Muggle grocery a few times but hadn’t ventured inside—the thought overwhelmed him.

He pocketed his leather wallet and Apparated into an alley in the heart of New Orleans. The air was thick and hot, and the streets were bustling with life in the early evening. He’d have to wander around Slidell at some point, but for now he was perfectly content with heading into the hustle and bustle.

The grocery store loomed tall and foreboding ahead of him. All around, people were pushing metal contraptions that held plastic sacks of foodstuffs, packing stuff into their automobiles. He’d have to go around the corner and shrink it all to get it home. He stepped into the brightly lit building, jumping only slightly when the doors slid open on their own, and watched as a few Muggles sidestepped him to retrieve the metal carts. He put his chin in the air and tried not to look like this was his first time.

He retrieved a metal cart and went into the store. There was a lot of noise—talking, beeping, the shuffling of plastic bags and carts.

He took a deep breath and went to the area labeled ‘Meat’. Draco browsed the meat, a frown on his face. Everything was wrapped in cellophane. How unappealing. A man saw his dismay through the window behind the glass cases and Draco assumed he was a butcher judging by the bloody coat he wore. “What seems to be the problem, son?”

“Why is it all wrapped in plastic?” he asked uncertainly, placing a pack of ground beef back into the cooled case, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

“What all are you looking for? I can see about hand wrapping it in paper if you’d prefer,” the man offered.

What was Draco looking for? He had no fucking idea. He shrugged. “How many people are you buying for?” the man asked.

“Two.”

“Finish your shopping and then come back to see me—I’ll get together a few different items for you,” the butcher offered and Draco nearly sighed in relief.

He pushed along heading toward ‘Produce.’ There was a nice selection of different brightly colored fruits and vegetables and he selected a few items he’d seen Hermione eat previously. Then he began weaving his way in and out of aisles. The different boxes and bags of artificial food made him wrinkle his nose. And what the hell was iced tea?

Draco found himself in the cleaning aisle, some rainbow fluffy thing called a feather duster in his hand. What a curious utensil. He looked around him and upon seeing no one, he ran the end of the feather duster over his face. It felt like a cloud—he immediately put it in the cart. He was sure Hermione would know what its purpose was.

There were candles in glass jars with different labels and he gathered that was meant to denote its scent. He sniffed a few, causing a headache to well pretty quickly—he’d never been exposed to scented candles before. Candles were practical and useful for creating light, not for decoration. What scent would Hermione like? He smelled a soft pink one labeled ‘angel whispers’ and it was light and refreshing. He placed all eight of them in his cart.

After he touched, sniffed, and shook nearly every box, bag and object in the grocery, he returned to the butcher. The man handed him a few packages wrapped in brown paper. “Chicken breasts, a couple of rib-eye and a pound of lean ground beef. That should be enough to start you.”

Draco smiled at the man and went to stand in a line. He eyed the rolling black belt warily, wondering how it pulled the food and what kind of motor system it housed. He tried not to act like he was too surprised by the beeping all around him. He emptied his goods onto the strange belt and looked around him. There were brightly wrapped candies and he turned his head as he studied the descriptions of each. He put something called a Butterfinger with his other items. Why would butter be in candy? Curious. Very curious.

Finally he came to stand in front of the loudly beeping contraption, a young girl of no older than sixteen sliding some kind of sticker across a pane of glass. Each time she did, the machine made a noise. Must be keeping tally. Draco turned the corners of his lips down in a ‘huh’ fashion and raised an eyebrow. “How are you tonight?” the girl asked, wholly uninterested.

“Fine,” he replied.

These Americans…all they ever wanted to do was talk. Even when they weren’t interested they still made the effort. He watched as another person walked up to where his items were gathering. “Paper or plastic?” the young man asked.

Paper or plastic? What in the bloody hell did that mean? He wasn’t too sure about the chemical make up of plastic just yet…“Paper,” he replied with a smile he hoped wasn’t transparent to his internally confusing struggle.

The boy nodded and retrieved a stack of paper sacks, delicately packing his goods in each. Paper sacks instead of the plastic ones. He made a note to remember that for next time. When the girl was done ringing him up, she read a total out to him and he handed her the plastic card the banker had given him. “Do you have some ID?” the girl asked.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his falsified passport, with the falsified date of birth reading that he was twenty-one years of age. She looked at it and at his card then slid that plastic piece through some other strange machine and handed him a slip of paper. “Have a good night.”

“That’s it?” he asked, pocketing his wallet.

“Should there be more?” she countered, raising an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat. “No. I suppose not. Take care.”

And Draco headed out of the bright store into the calm night. He looked around himself and walked between two tall automobiles to shrink his goods in peace. He put them all in one paper bag and grabbing it, Apparated back home. He laid everything out on the counter and then stared at the large cooling chest the Muggles had insisted he needed. A refrigerator. He put the meat and the glass jar of milk into it, staring proudly at his purchases. Hermione was coming home and she was going to see that he’d done this all alone. He couldn’t wait to show her.

There was a large closet to one side of the kitchen that would act as a walk in pantry and he stowed the fresh bread in there, the single loaf making the place feel more like home already.

His witch was coming home.

o-o-o

Draco woke with his heart palpitating somewhere behind his Adam’s apple the next morning. He had hardly slept with all of the nervous excitement he was feeling. He pulled on a dark navy suit with a light blue pinstripe, paired with a crisp white shirt and stark red tie. His hands shook as he tied his tie and he willed himself to calm down as he retrieved his neatly packed satchel.

He Apparated a little farther from the school behind an abandoned gas station and walked the short distance, his mind clouded with thoughts of his witch. He was trying to remember her smell, the feel of her soft curls beneath his hands, her lips on his. Only a few more hours and he would be able to love on her once more.

These were the thoughts swimming through his mind as he crossed through the parking lot up to the school’s entrance. He stopped short when a hearse door swung open in his way and Natalie LeRoux stepped into his path. “Why hello, Draco. You’re looking…healthy this morning.”

“Natalie,” he nodded and shifted his satchel on his shoulder uncomfortably.

“I put in a good word with my daddy, but you didn’t call on Friday. Everything going okay with the house?” she asked, her voice dripping with Southern sugar.

“Everything went splendidly,” he replied shortly.

“Well, if you want, you could come past and talk to him at lunch,” she offered just as a loud rumble sounded in the spot on the other side of her hearse.

Draco waited for the rumbling to subside before speaking. “I am going to have to politely decline your offer, Miss LeRoux.”

“Why?” she asked incredulously. “You’ll never find an apprenticeship in this city!”

“It’s gonna be awf’lly ha’d tuh work fuh you, if he’s already workin’ fuh us, LeRoux,” came the sound of a voice behind Draco.

He turned to see a tall man in a sharp black suit pulling a helmet off of his head. Draco craned his neck to see over the hearse and saw a motorbike—another thing he’d only ever seen in pictures. He narrowed his eyes in confusion at the man and the man smiled kindly and gave him a wink. Draco played along and looked back at Natalie.

“Why on earth would you want to work for some backwoods hick family like the Bastiens?” she asked Draco acidly, eyeing the man with contempt.

“‘Cause he’s got bettuh sense dan tuh get mixed up with some bigoted, antebellum-actin’ has-beens like the LeRouxs,” the man replied coolly, his accent strange to Draco’s ears.

Natalie’s pretty features contorted in anger. “You bayou raised, Creole idiot. I ought to—”

“Oughtta what, cher? Why don’ you get on out uh heuh befo’ you start sometin you can’ finish,” he said and gestured toward the school.

Natalie looked at him and turned on her heel after shooting him one more death glare. The two men watched her stomp off and Draco finally turned to the man. He was taller than Draco, his skin the color of creamy mocha with astute eyes of ocher. He held out his hand. “Henri Bastien. Of Bastien-Beaumont Mortuary.”

“Draco Malfoy…formerly of Wiltshire, currently of Slidell…no mortuary affiliation as of yet,” the blond replied, a large grin on his face as he shook the man’s hand.

“I mean what I said. My fadduh owns the fun’ral home and I already tol’ him ‘bout you. If you wanna job, you got it,” Henri said, smiling kindly.

“How do you know anything about me?” Draco asked.

“Take a look at our classmates, Draygo. Half uh dem ain’t never gonna make it t’rough school, and outta de half dat does, half of dem ain’t gonna ever be mo’ticians. You, on de odduh hand, came here all de way from Englan’ to go to school. Da’s motivation righ’ dere.”

Draco nodded. Classes began at seven and it was five minutes before. Draco walked around to where Henri had parked his motorbike. “What is this?” he asked, running a hand over the handlebars.

“Da’s my girl, ‘Berta. She’s uh 1977 Harley-Davidson Sportster. You ride?” he asked, touching the seat of the bike fondly.

“Not yet,” was Draco’s reply as he stared at the bike in awe.

Henri laughed. “Le’s get tuh class. Come talk tuh my fadduh on We’nesday and I’ll show you de fleet.”

“You’ve got more than one?” Draco asked as they walked toward their class.

“Oh, pal. I got eight,” Henri laughed once more and Draco smiled, impressed.

When they entered class, Natalie was glaring at the pair. Draco flashed her his most brilliant smile, complete sarcasm and acid behind it. He slid into the desk next to Henri and listened as the Professor began speaking about Thanatochemistry.

o-o-o

Anatomy ended twenty minutes before scheduled time and Draco nearly ran out of the school at a sprint, calling a goodbye to his new friend over his shoulder. He ran to his new Apparating spot and Apparated back to the house. He purchased a bouquet of long-stem red roses the night before and they lay on the table. He tossed his satchel on the counter and his suit coat on top of that. Hermione’s plane was going to touch down in thirty minutes.

Draco looked at himself in the mirror that hung in the foyer. He ran a hand through his newly cut hair, brushing a stray strand back into the neat coif. He smoothed a hand over his suit vest and straightened his sleeve, situating the cufflinks on either side of his wrists just so. His heart was already pounding, his stomach roiling anxiously.

He ran back into the kitchen and retrieved his bouquet, peeling off the tacky paper the Muggles had wrapped it in. He transfigured the paper into a ribbon and tied it with shaky hands around the stems.

Draco took one last look around the house—the designers had finally finished and every minute detail had been tended to. He nodded to no one and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and recited the address of the airport in his mind, trying to picture a public restroom in his mind simultaneously. When he landed his Apparation, he had managed to find himself in a public restroom, and he made to jog out as a woman strolled in.

“You can’t be in here!” she shrieked and began smacking him. “Pervert!”

“So sorry madam,” he replied, sidestepping her distractedly.

She was still calling after him as he made his way into a huge crowd of people. Hermione had told him terminal C. Draco had to ask three people before he finally jogged into terminal C, ten minutes to spare. He began to pace nervously, drawing the attention of others waiting for their loved ones. He tried deep breathing. He mumbled a pep talk to himself. It had only been three weeks. But he had accomplished so fucking much in the last three weeks of his life. Would Hermione like the house? Would she like America? Would she miss her parents and want to fly back to Australia on the next flight? He was driving himself crazy with these thoughts as something outside of the window caught his eye.

A huge metal bird came skidding down and he gasped. That was an aeroplane? It was terrifying. He watched as it slowed and drove around the tarmac, coming to a stop at the end of an accordion style hallway. His witch was on that flying death trap merely a few hundred feet away. He paced once more, turning away from the window to begin breathing deeply again. Why was he so bloody nervous?

He heard shrieks of joy sound from the people behind him, breaking his reverie and he turned. People were streaming in from that strange hallway. He searched for a poofy head of curls in the sea of Muggles hugging, crying and rushing.

Draco finally spotted her. She was wearing some kind of tight pants that looked painted on and a hooded sweatshirt, the hood up over her hair. He gasped in a breath of air and felt like his heart was near bursting. She seemed to notice him at the same time because she stopped dead in her tracks momentarily. They stared at each other for a moment—one Draco was sure was only a few seconds but felt more like an eternity. He could have sworn everyone else melted away while he looked at her.

Then a brilliant grin broke across her face and he felt his own face do the same. He held his arms open and she sprinted right for him, nearly knocking down an elderly man ahead of her. The force with which she pummeled into him knocked the wind out of him and he scooped her up and swung her around. “Oh my pet. Oh, love…I’ve missed you..Sweet Merlin…” he was mumbling between kisses.

Hermione was kissing every inch of his cheeks she could reach when he set her down. “Draco! I’ve missed you! It’s been the longest three weeks! And look at you—in blue. You look so dashing,” she was talking equally as fast, using his suit vest to pull him closer to kiss him once more.

It took a few moments before Draco realized their cheeks were wet, but he was unsure which one of them was crying. He pulled away and used the hand that wasn’t holding the roses to wipe her face dry. It was then he realized they were missing someone. “Where’s your dad?” he asked, looking around at the thinning crowd of Muggles.

Hermione bit her lip and smiled sheepishly up at him, an act that made him feel insane. “I convinced him that I wanted to come alone—to see you and to adjust. We should be together, alone in our home for a while.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” she replied, bending to smell the roses he still held.

“Why come on the plane then? You could have just held the signet ring,” he said, incredulously confused.

“And ruin the surprise?” she laughed, wrapping her arms around him. “Let’s go home, love,” she purred into his ear, sending shivers of anticipation down his spine.

“Luggage?” he asked with a sudden urgency.

She patted her beaded bag. “It’s all in here.”

He grabbed her hand then and practically ran toward the bathroom. They didn’t even make it all the way in, only getting as far as the short hall between doors before he Apparated them to their home.

They landed outside of the house and Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, Draco,” she choked out, her face full of awe.

He smiled. She loved it, he could tell. Her face glowed with another playful as she turned and swatted him repeatedly. “I,” smack, “Told,” smack, “You,” smack, “Nothing,” smack, “Os-ten-ta-tious,” smack smack smack.

He laughed and grabbed her hand. “We can argue about the house later, witch. Just get your arse inside, now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and took off sprinting once more, taking the porch stairs impressively quickly for someone of her short stature. She was looking around as Draco unlocked the door and he pushed her inside, turning to shut the door calmly. He looked over his shoulder at her as she looked around her, her face gleeful. He smirked and she looked down at him, meeting his gaze.

He tossed the roses on a chair and stalked toward her, closing the gap between them quickly. “You come here, you delectable little minx,” he said, putting his hands on either side of her neck and pulling her to himself.

But something was different. There was no weight of a thousand curls across the back of his hands. He pulled her hood back and his eyes grew wide. “You cut your hair…and made it darker…”

She bit her lip nervously. Her hair was no longer a curtain down her back, but was cut neatly up to her shoulders, and was no longer tight curls but loose, bouncy, sleek ones. And her hair wasn’t so much light blonds and browns—it was a deep, rich chocolate that made her pretty doe eyes pop. “You don’t like it?” she asked quietly.

He made a growl of appreciation and backed her roughly into the low foyer table. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to look any fucking better…and then you go and do this,” he bit her bottom lip. “Are you trying to kill me?”

In response, she pushed the decorative dish away from herself and hopped her bottom onto the table, pulling his face to hers in one swift movement. Draco began unzipping her sweatshirt, which he now noticed was hiding her new look shyly. She had nothing to worry about, the silly witch, she’d look good bald.

He pushed her sweatshirt down her shoulders and she was wearing a thin tank top underneath. He grunted in appreciation as he licked and kissed and sucked his way down her newly exposed skin. Hermione pulled the sleeves off and tossed the sweatshirt away from them. Draco broke his track down her neck to stare down at her. “What on earth do you call these pants?” he asked, his voice deep and husky.

“Muggles wear them to exercise,” she replied with a shrug, making quick work of his vest and cufflinks.

“I’ll give you an exercise,” he growled, grabbing the top of them and yanking them down as she lifted her bottom, toed off her trainers and worked on his belt simultaneously.

“Where’s the bedroom?” she asked him, as he suckled at her ear.

“Upstairs,” he replied, pulling the pants off of her ankles completely.

She hopped off the table and began to back him toward the stairs. He toed off his dress shoes and kicked them to the side. She was quickly unbuttoning his shirt as he stopped at the base of the stairs. She pushed it off his shoulders and hummed as she brought her lips to his chest, running her nose over the baby soft tuft of hair there, inhaling his scent. “Oh, gods, I missed you.”

He hummed his consent and backed up the stairs as he pulled her shirt up and over her head. Another couple of stairs and her bra was left as one more proverbial breadcrumb in the trail of discarded clothing. “You are entirely too covered,” she complained, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants.

She pushed them down off of his hips, and he stepped out of them as he backed up another stair. Once at the top of the landing, he turned her so she was backing up and he backed her into their new room. He hadn’t ever slept in the bed, waiting for her to arrive.

Draco backed her straight to the bed and landed on top of her with a gentle bounce. She ran her hands over his arse, pulling his boxers with it and he wiggled out of them as he knelt between her legs. He looked down at her, clad only in a slinky pair of black lacy knickers. “These for me, love?” he asked playfully, thumbing the skin under the sides.

She grinned. “It was a matching set,” she commented. “Though…I’m not sure you even took note of that.”

He made a noise at the back of his throat and thrust the knickers down, ripping the side in his harshness. “Hey!” she said indignantly. “Those cost me a fortune!”

“I have a small fortune. I’ll buy you a hundred more pair,” he said, dragging his eyes over her deliciously naked form.

After the fervent undressing, Draco slowed the pace some, staring down at his witch, taking in the sight before him. She wiggled beneath him. “You’d better hurry…I’ve got forty-five minutes to register my wand,” she whispered.

“I only need thirty,” he replied, smirking.

She ran her fingernails over his bare skin and the feel of it rose gooseflesh over his body. He ran his hands over her sides, down her hips, over and between her thighs, rediscovering his territory. After a few minutes of his deft fingers playing over her most delicate areas, she was panting and mewling beneath him. He was kissing her neck, whispering in her ear, beckoning her to break.

When she finally did, he took that as his opportunity to wrap her legs around him and he took her much more slowly that he wanted. It was taking a great deal of restraint on his part to keep pace as he watched her clench her eyes and bite that pretty little lips of hers. He ran his thumb over her lip, untucking it from between her teeth. She licked at his finger playfully, opening her eyes to look up at him with a sexy smile. He nearly came undone then.

He growled a deep rumble and leaned down, burying his face in her hair and neck, inhaling her scent as he listened to her pants increasing in frequency in his ear, her breath ghosting over his shoulder. “Gods, you feel so good,” he croaked out. “I’ve missed you.”

She dug her heels into his lower back and met the rolls of his hips with her own, increasing in speed and begging him to do so as well. “Just like that,” she moaned softly as he found the pace she craved.

He felt Hermione’s legs begin to quake around him and he knew he wasn’t far behind. He brought a hand between them to touch her once more and she arched into his touch, her body pressing against his in a way that left him craving more. Draco was breathing heavily as she shook and quivered deliciously around him and she let out a final, “Oh, Draco!” as she dug her nails into his sweat-glistened back.

When he finally found his release, he collapsed onto her, pressing her into the down of their bedding. He held himself up, trying to alleviate the weight and ran his hand lovingly over her face, using his fingernail to unstick a strand of her hair from her damp forehead. He looked at her beautiful, post sex face, little beads of sweat forming on her flushed cheeks, her lips swollen with kissing, her eyes heavy with satisfaction. He’d never seen a sight as beautiful.

“I love you,” he whispered and brought his lips to brush against hers for a sweet moment.

“I love you, too. I’ve missed you, more than you know,” she said, pushing his hair away from his face.

“We really should get dressed—we’ve got to get out of here if we’re to register your wand on time,” he said, sounding rueful that they had to leave the bed. “And wear something dressy—I’m taking you to out,” he said, rolling off of her and lifting himself up on still shaky legs.

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is long enough. But that means I can’t get to their date, of course. Darn. Next chapter is my favorite of all 43—I’ve got a thing for New Orleans, even though I’ve never been. I’m going to have so much fun with it! Let’s just say, their next carriage ride won’t be drawn by thestrals! And I’ve already made a collage for the chapter, before I even wrote it! So excited you guys!
> 
> Please review! Let me know what you think!
> 
> Also, made a collage of their house as I see it for Caprubia on tumblr—themourningmadam


	11. Chapter 11

Draco sat on the edge of the bed as he pushed new cufflinks through his sleeves. Hermione had gone to retrieve all of their discarded clothing and her brief absence gave him the opportunity to start second guessing himself. He had a very precise plan for the evening and he was trying to steady his nerves as he thought of all the possible outcomes, all the different ways the night could end.

Luckily, Hermione came back into the room, a soft billowy white summer dress on, highlighting the gorgeous tan she was sporting after her stay in Australia. She smiled at him sheepishly. “It really is a beautiful house, Draco. I can see why you said you could envision us raising children here. Everything is perfect—the house, the land, the atmosphere.”

Draco beamed with the praise. “I planned every detail with you in mind. I just wanted a place where you could finally feel safe and relaxed. It’s just…your life has just been so difficult…”

His voice trailed off and he took a deep breath, his nerves still eating at him as he extended his hand toward her, beckoning her to sit on his lap. “Come here, my beautiful witch.”

She did as she was asked and sat primly on his knee. He pulled her close with one arm draped across her thigh, his hand pulling her legs toward him. He put his other hand around her back and hugged her to himself. “Oh my sweet little duck, how I’ve missed you…”

She hummed in agreement, burying her face in the top of his hair, his soft hair tickling at her nose until she pulled away. “We’ve got to go. I’ve got ten minutes.”

Draco groaned in discontent and she hopped off of him. “All right, all right. Let’s get your wand registered and then the real fun can begin.”

o-o-o

They were strolling through the streets and Hermione’s eyes were wide as she took in the sights around them. “This city…there’s this…” she gestured with the hand that wasn’t holding his, searching for the perfect words.

“‘Je ne sais quoi?’ As the locals would say,” he laughed. “But I know what you mean. The magic here is so rich, so historic it seeps out of every crevice. It positively hums, even here in the Muggle area.”

“Exactly,” she replied as Draco pulled her toward the doors of a restaurant called Antoine’s. “They have excellent French-Creole food…or so I’ve heard.”

They were seated in the back corner of the romantic restaurant. The lighting was dim and a candle within a lantern lit the table with a soft glow, creating a sensual ambience. “The Muggles here—they put ice in their tea. It is the strangest thing…” he said, eyeing the menu.

“I think I just want some real Louisiana food. This gumbo sounds amazing,” she mentioned and he agreed.

“We’ll get that to start. And how about the chateaubriand for the main course?” he asked, eyeing her over his menu.

“Done. Let’s try some of that sweet tea,” she said playfully.

“Leave room for dessert…there’s this charming little café across town that has the best beignets and chicory infused café au lait,” he mentioned as the waiter sidled up beside them.

He ordered for them, adding a bottle of red wine to the tab. “I thought the drinking age here was twenty-one?” she asked.

“It is, which is precisely why my passport reads twenty-one,” he laughed and she glared, not really angry. “So tell me, how was Australia after I left?”

Her smile fell some and she looked down at the table. He reached over and put his hand over where she was picking at a nail. “What’s the matter?”

She looked up at him and shrugged and he could tell she was on the verge of crying. “It’s not the same.”

“What’s not?”

“Me and my parents…they are wary of me and tiptoed around the entire time,” she replied sadly.

“What did they say?’ he demanded, feeling wholly protective of her.

“They were pleasant enough and they tried to make it decent for me. But I can just tell, Draco. There was an uneasiness underlying the entire stay…and I just wanted to come home so badly,” she admitted.

“You’re home now,” he whispered quietly, his heart aching for his girl. “It’s going to take time to earn their trust completely, Hermione. But they’ll come around fully—they’ve come a long way already.”

“They’re keeping their new names. My dad claimed it was part of their fresh start. They recall their dental practice, obviously, but they decided to maintain their floral shop instead. They are truly happy in Australia…with or without me,” she told him, her voice catching.

Draco reached across the table and caught her tear with his thumb before it could slide down her cheek. “There will be none of that tonight. Tonight we are going to focus on us. You are finally home to me,” his voice was gentle as he spoke.

His heart throbbed for the inner turmoil she was experiencing. She hadn’t mentioned any of this in their numerous talks on the phone—he knew she was just trying to keep him from returning to Australia to scoop her up. But she shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. She sniffed once and took a deep breath, a small smile returning to her lips. “So…you need a driver’s license, huh?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Draco was grateful that she changed the subject to something safer. He knew she was still feeling pained, but he was determined to make this night memorable for her. “It never occurred to me that I’d have to drive hearses—until I saw them parked outside of the school. And the Muggles ask too many questions about how I arrive places. The word that we bought the house in Slidell spread like wild fire and home is much too far for me to walk…I’ll run out of explanations soon.”

She nodded. “Well, then we will have to go and buy a car for you.”

Draco scoffed and took a sip of the chilled tea. He wrinkled his nose. “I can practically feel the sugar slick in my mouth,” he commented dryly, setting the offending drink away from himself. “And we aren’t going to buy a car for me. We’re going to buy cars for both of us. If we are going to live as Muggles, we’re going to have to play the part.”

Hermione groaned. “And, let me guess, only the best will do?”

“I want you in something safe and reliable…plus I will charm the hell out of it…those Muggles drive like they’ve got a death wish,” he said with a hearty laugh.

“As long as it’s not a motorcycle, I’m fine,” she said, sipping her wine.

Draco thought it best not to mention Henri’s collection just yet. “I was offered an apprenticeship,” he mentioned, looking down at the table humbly.

“Really?” Hermione squealed. “That’s great news! Where?”

Draco thought about Natalie. “I was offered two different ones actually…”

Hermione looked at him and didn’t understand his sudden hesitance. “Okay,” she started slowly. “And what happened with the first one?”

He took a deep breath. “The woman who offered it to me…she’s rather forward,” he said, his voice low.

“Forward? Forward how?” she asked.

“She continuously comes onto me…and I’ll admit, the first day I tried to be charming,” he was looking at the table between them.

Hermione furrowed her brow, a frown on her face. “Well, you do look rather dashing in your suit…should I be worried?”

He shook his head. “No. I realized pretty quickly that my actions could be taken as flirtation and I distanced myself from her…which is how I got my second offer.”

“Another girl after your heart?” she asked, her tone turning amused.

Draco was glad she wasn’t angry with him. “No. A funny Creole lad named Henri whose father owns the opposing funeral home. Said he admired my motivation.”

“Impressive. You’ve been in school a week and already have funeral homes fighting over you. What a hot commodity,” she teased.

“Yes, well, that’s not all. The Mulbanes have purchased the parcel of land where the refuge is to go. We’ll give you time to adjust, but in a week or two, I’d like for you to meet with Tabitha and begin designing the place,” he mentioned casually.

Hermione nodded, smiling widely. “Maybe the American house elves will be more liberal than the ones back home,” she said hopefully, stabbing a piece of meat and popping it into her mouth.

Draco laughed. Not likely. “Perhaps. Speaking of the refuge, Theo is coming for a weekend sometime soon to bring Eugene. Wants to bring Ginny, too.”

“I almost forgot about little Eugene!” she said, smiling widely at the thought of the miniscura.

“I’m glad you could forget so easily about our dragon child…perhaps we shouldn’t have human children,” he quipped with gleeful sarcasm, nudging her shin with the toe of his shoe.

In response, she ran her ankle up the length of his own shin, playing a game of footsy as they continued to eat and speak, catching each other up on the three weeks they’d spent apart.

After they’d eaten, Draco took her hand and walked her out into the street once more. The soft sounds of a street band played in the distance. In the three weeks since he’d come to the city, he’d heard many talents on many corners, but this one was his favorite. They played each night and drew a crowd of onlookers who tossed change into an open trumpet case. He pulled her hand and they ambled slowly toward the noise, the sound growing louder until they turned the corner and came face to face with the gentlemen.

He’d listened to them a few nights and knew they could play soft romantic jazz when prompted. He looked to the trumpet player and gave him a single nod and the musician pulled his instrument away from his mouth. “What you want to hear tonight, sugar?” he asked Hermione politely.

Her eyes grew wide and she looked up at Draco before shrugging innocently. The musician held up one finger and smiled widely. “I got just the thing.”

And he began the first notes to Miles Davis’ “Isn’t It Romantic.” His band quickly caught on and played softly behind him. Draco turned to his witch and held out his hand to indicate he wanted to dance. She raised an eyebrow. “Here?” she asked, eyeing the others who were standing near.

“Don’t worry about everyone else. Just focus on me,” he said, pointing to his eyes with two fingers. “It’s just us, love.”

Hermione stepped into his embrace and placed her hand in his, her other on his chest. He placed a hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer to himself, beginning the soft circling sway. “This place can’t possibly be real,” she said, looking at the band over his shoulder as the trumpet player gave her a wink.

Draco hummed his agreeance and continued moving, stepping completely out of time to the music but not caring much. He didn’t even care when she stepped on his foot the first or forth time. He was simply ecstatic to have her here with him in the most magical place he’d ever been. Everyone around them swayed to the music and they led a few other couples to follow them and begin dancing. He held her hand in his, ran the pad of his thumb over her bare ring finger and felt his heart flutter. Not yet. The night was far from over.

As the song ended everyone around them burst into a loud clapping and Draco turned around to give the trumpeter a wide smile. He pulled a hundred from his wallet and tossed it into the instrument case and clapped the man on the shoulder. “Thanks for that, mate. You’ve got a true talent.”

The man nodded and smiled humbly and thanked Draco for his generosity. Draco took Hermione’s hand and pulled her along. “Come along, Granger. There is still much I wish to show you this evening.”

He gestured to a horse drawn carriage and looked down at her. “Your chariot, m’lady,” he said, holding out his hand to help her up the step and into the carriage.

The man navigating the carriage looked over his shoulder and said something in French. Draco responded in equally as eloquent French and then sat beside Hermione, who looked at her with her mouth agape. “I didn’t know you spoke French!”

“Ah…I speak many languages, love. Perhaps one day you’ll get to hear them all,” he commented and he settled in beside her.

Draco wrapped his arm behind her, resting his hand on her opposite arm and pulled her closer to himself. The sound of the horses clopping and the band they were leaving behind made a lullaby that put Draco’s anxieties to ease. He grabbed her left hand with his left and pulled it up to his mouth, kissing each knuckle in turn. His lips lingered briefly over her ring finger and he smiled against her skin. Soon.

“Honestly, Draco…this place is—” she was cut off when he tilted her face to meet his in a sweet kiss.

She angled herself so she was facing him a little better, their hands still clutched between them, her free one finding its way to his jaw. His face was smooth as stone and his lips plump, warm and inviting and she allowed herself to get lost in the man she’d spent too many nights away from. He brought his hand from around her back and draped his arm around her shoulders, sliding his hand under her freshly cut hair. He rubbed his thumb against the nape of her neck in a way that gave her chills. He clutched her hand to himself and she could feel his heart beating swiftly under her knuckles.

Hermione pulled away and kissed down over his jaw and to his neck. He tilted his head to allow her access and his grip on her hand tightened as she licked a place just below his ear and then breathed lightly over as she laughed softly. No wonder she liked it so much when he’d done that same trick. “Granger,” he growled under his breath and she laughed much more heartily.

The cabbie pulled the horses to a halt after a long while and broke the two apart as it jostled to a stop. The cabbie spoke again over his shoulder. Draco responded and climbed out of the carriage, holding his hand out to assist Hermione down. He said a quick good night to the man and he tipped his hat at Draco and ushered the horses forth.

Draco took Hermione’s hand once more. They were in a more empty area of the city, very few people shuffling past now. The carriage had stopped right in front of the opening to a bridge and Hermione glanced around them. “I thought we were going to get dessert?” she asked.

“And we are. The café is just over this bridge and down a block or two,” he said, pointing in the direction of the café. “I thought we could enjoy the night a little more.”

The Southern night air was sultry and sensual, warm but not overpowering. The bridge, an old stone walkway covered in moss and vines was illuminated by old fashioned lanterns, a soft yellow glow pouring out over the old cobblestones. The air was still around them, the only sound the gentle breeze rustling the canopy of Spanish moss and wisteria overhead. And the steadily increasing tempo of Draco’s heart. Hermione turned to look at him. “Okay there, Malfoy?” she teased, tugging at his hand playfully. “You’re awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

He smiled down at her and nodded. “Just thinking is all,” he said and he began walking.

She gave him a mock stern look. “You know how dangerous that is,” she admonished teasingly and she let out a gentle laugh.

He smiled at her good-natured poking fun and as they were about halfway over the bridge, he figured it was as good a time as it would ever be. He was sure she could feel his hand shaking in her tiny grasp anyway. Hermione walked another step forward but was pulled back when she realized Draco was no longer moving. She turned around and gave him a sweet smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his mouth. He was sure she could feel the tremble of his lower lip and chin. Bollocks. Why in the bloody hell was he so nervous?

When she pulled away, standing on her tiptoes with her arms around his shoulders she rubbed her nose on his. “As sweet as your sugar is, I’d like to taste these beignets at some point tonight.”

Draco pulled back and took both of her hands in his own, looking down at them between them. He couldn’t bring himself to speak until he took three deep breaths. Hermione was looking at him. “Is everything all right?” she asked, concern etched in her face and splashed in her tone.

He nodded. “I just wanted to say that I’m really glad you’re here with me to embark on our fresh start…”

“Of course…where else would I be?” she smiled.

“And…just like your parents…I think our fresh start should begin with a name change…” he said, smiling down at her nervously.

She furrowed her brow in confusion and he knelt on one knee, just as he’d watched Muggles do time and again in the films he’d watched since arriving. He watched as the realization of what was happening spread across her face and her eyes went wide as tea saucers. He reached into his pocket and retrieved the little velvet box. He cracked it open, taking one more final breath before looking up into his witch’s face.

“Hermione Jean Granger…there isn’t another person in this world I would rather spend every day of the rest of my life with. I want to marry you; I want to father your children and raise a family of beautiful curly haired babies; I want to be by your side through every triumph to laugh with you and through every sorrow to wipe your tears; I want to grow old with you—an opportunity I once thought I’d never get the chance to see. But I do see myself growing old, with you, on the porch swing…a book nestled in our lap with really giant print so we can see,” he said, his voice breaking as he let out a shaky laugh. “Please do me the honor of saying you’ll be my wife?” he finished almost in a questioning plea.

He had a tear running down his face as he looked at her and the sight of it made Hermione’s heart swell. She was crying steadily, unable to form any coherent words. She simply nodded. Draco looked momentarily stunned. “Really?” he asked, smiling widely.

Hermione laughed. “Really.”

Draco was full on grinning now as he lifted the ring from its velvet box. It was much more ornate than he would have pictured her wearing at first, but after he saw it, he couldn’t imagine another ring adorning her finger. It was a large diamond, with a halo of smaller diamonds surrounding it in the shape of a delicate flower, still smaller diamonds embedded in the band. The sight of it made her gasp and put a hand over her mouth. “Merlin, Draco…it’s…”

He looked up after sliding it onto her finger and whispering the charm to make it fit her, worried that she hadn’t come up with an adjective yet. “It’s what? Do you hate it…I know it’s quite large…but…you are marrying a Malfoy…this wasn’t even the biggest one I’d considered…” he was talking quickly, suddenly nervous as he remained kneeling on the stones.

“It’s stunning,” she replied, smiling as she moved her finger to make it sparkle in the light.

“It’s not ostentatious?’ he asked, standing once more.

“Oh, it’s definitely ostentatious…but it’s so pretty…“she said and she fought the urge to let out a Ginny Weasley squeal. “It’s perfect, but beyond what it looks like, it’s perfect because you took the time to select this one specifically for me. That means a lot to me.”

“I think I nearly drove the jeweler to drink. He was ready to hex me by the time I walked out with it,” Draco laughed, pulling her face to his for another kiss.

When he pulled away, still holding her face on either side, he nuzzled his nose against hers lovingly. “I love you, Hermione. And I’m going to continue loving you every day for the rest of my life, if you’ll have me.”

“I love you, too, Draco. And I fully intend to hold you to your promise of a porch swing and large-print books,” she said, placing another sweet kiss on his lips. “Now…let’s go get some beignets…and you can have second helpings of dessert when we get home,” she said coyly and she turned around as he swatted her bottom.

“You little temptress,” he said under his breath as he closed the gap between them and laced their fingers together.

He Apparated them to Café du Monde, landing around the corner and away from Muggles. Hermione pinched him when they landed. “I thought we were walking?”

Draco laughed. “No…the carriage brought us in the complete opposite direction…but I knew we had to go to the bridge.”

“Why the bridge?” she asked curiously.

“Our first kiss was on a bridge. And now we’ve gotten engaged on a bridge. Setting the bar high for wedding venues,” he laughed and he opened the door to the café for her.

The café was quiet this night and for that he was thankful. He sat her down and removed his suit coat, draping it over the back of the chair. He brought back a large basket of fried dough squares, sprinkled generously with powdered sugar, a small dish of raspberry preserves on the side. On the tray were two deep mugs of coffee as well. He set everything down and pulled his chair around to be seated closer to her. “They put chicory in the coffee…makes it taste almost like chocolate,” he commented, pointing to her mug.

“I can’t believe we’re engaged,” she said, flashing him a brilliant smile, her eyes sparkling.

Draco grinned in return. “You’re my fiancée. I quite enjoy the sound of that.”

“Not as much as I will enjoy calling you my husband,” she said, taking a bite of a beignet.

She moaned at the taste of the fried dough melting in her mouth, the raspberry mixing pleasantly. “On second thought, why don’t we get another basket of these for the second helpings of dessert? We can just eat them in bed.”

“I don’t think so, witch…I was promised a very specific second helping,” he said, giving her a wink and taking a bite.

Hermione had the mug of coffee to her lips and smiled into it as Draco finished the second half of his treat. He had powdered sugar on his top lip and on his chin, giving him an endearing innocent look. He noticed her sly smile and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She set her mug down and reached over, brushing the sugar from his chin and pulling his face towards hers. Hermione took his top lip between hers and suckled at it gently, the confectioner’s sugar sweet on her tongue. He smiled into her and leaned in, cupping her face with one hand and grabbing the iron back of her chair with his other. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire.

She bit his lip in consent and stood. He draped his suit jacket around her shoulders and gave a wave to the woman behind the counter as they exited. They went around the corner and she immediately Apparated them into their bedroom.

They took their time exploring each other late into the night. Each caress was soft and tender, each kiss and thrust seeped with love and mutual adoration. Draco took his time tending to her needs multiple times over, worshipping her body like the goddess she was. He kissed, nipped, caressed, played every inch of her skin, nothing left unattended. For her part, she ran her hands over any and everything, her mouth only breaking from his skin to let out a soft moan or to pant as she shook and collapsed into bliss beneath his attentive hands, mouth, body.

As dawn approached, the light from outside their open French balcony doors changed. It began a dark midnight, the crescent moon providing very little light as they made love. And now, as he lay on his back with his witch curled around him, her head over his heart, it was turning a faint purple with streaks of gold as the sun rose. He traced his fingertips down her spine lazily as he stared out at the sky, half light and half still encasing the stars. How he loved this witch of his.

o-o-o


	12. Chapter 12

Draco had only slept for about an hour when his eyes opened. School began at seven and he needed to get up and get going if he was to be on time. He put one hand over his eyes as he tried to clear the stinging lack of sleep from his eyes and put one hand next to him to make contact with his witch. The bed was cold next to him.

He leaned up and saw her in the corner of the room, peeking into his schoolbooks. She was clad in his button down shirt from the night before, her delectably bare bottom peeking out as she moved to look at his notebooks. He groaned. She startled at the noise and looked over at him, nearly splashing the coffee out of her mug in the process.

“Well, good morning,” she said sweetly.

“How are you this peppy?” he asked, mourning the sleep he didn’t get the night before.

“I slept like a dream after our rather exhausting activities. Why, did you not sleep well?” she asked tenderly, stepping in between his knees after he scooted to the edge of the bed.

He rubbed his face and yawned. “Too much energy, I suppose,” he said, running his hands over the backs of her thighs and thumbing the soft swell of her bottom.

She hummed and ran a hand through his messy locks. “I’m going to go into town today…wizarding. We need some basic potions supplies.”

“Why don’t you meet me at one for lunch?” he suggested, rising and stretching his full length, arms high above his head.

Hermione took an appreciative glance over his naked form and he smirked. “See something you want, Granger?”

She licked her lips and put the coffee mug to her lips. He laughed and walked in the direction of the bathroom, giving his bottom a little wiggle dramatically as he did so, causing her to giggle. She followed him in and he felt the serenity of their old routine starting to ease him. “Why don’t you utilize this big ol’ bathtub today? Soak and just relax?” he suggested, stepping into the standalone shower and sliding the glass almost closed.

“I wanted to explore a little today, because I have every intention of contacting Tabitha and meeting with her on Monday,” she replied.

Draco rolled his eyes as he lathered his hair. Ever the eager one and never one to rest too long. She slid the glass door open a little more and leaned against the wall. “This shower is quite spacious.”

“Witch…are you insatiable? I’ve got to get to school,” he said, raising his eyebrow and grinning to himself.

She pouted slightly and hid it with another sip of her drink. Draco looked at the ring adorning her finger and bent his face to kiss it gently. Hermione smiled up at him and ran a finger down his wet chest and abdomen, bending to kiss the Sectumsempra scar. She turned and sauntered away from him, leaving him to lean his head back against the wall. She was absolutely going to be the death of him.

When he got out and began combing his hair, he could see her moving in the bedroom in the reflection of the mirror. She was laying out a suit for him, humming to herself as she did so. He smiled to himself as he put toothpaste on his brush.

“I noticed there are groceries here,” she called, moving to the closet and returning with a shirt to go with the suit.

“I went grocery shopping,” he replied.

She stopped her tracks and looked at him in the mirror. “By yourself?”

He nodded and smiled proudly. She looked impressed. “How domestic.”

“Who would’ve thought? I always assumed I’d have a team of house elves to do it all for me and a submissive wife that did nothing but schmooze other socialites…But here we are.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Hermione quipped rolling her eyes.

“I would never give this up,” he said seriously, pulling on the clothing she’d laid out for him.

When he finished she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. “One o’clock for lunch, right?”

He nodded and stepped around her to retrieve his leather satchel. “By the cars.”

“I’ll be there,” she confirmed.

Draco leaned down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you then. And tomorrow—we start working on my driver’s license.”

o-o-o

Draco sat through Psychology of Death and Dying and Microbiology, willing his mind to focus on his lessons. Instead it kept wandering to his fiancée. He definitely needed to brew up some concentrating concoction. He was sitting beside Henri, who was at ease just as much as Natalie across the room. He envied those who grew up in the funeral business. It’s almost as though this all came naturally to them. Draco had to scribble notes on every thing with a quickness he’d never needed in the past. What he wouldn’t give to have a quick quotes quill to take the notes for him.

After Microbiology, it was finally time to meet Hermione. Henri rose and waited for him. “You wanna catch some lunch or somet’in’?” he asked politely, tucking his motorcycle helmet under his arm.

Draco shook his head. “I’m meeting my fiancée. She’s finally here.”

Henri smiled widely. “Well come on, den. Le’s go,” he said, pointing to the door.

Draco gathered his notecards and shoved them in his bag as he made to follow Henri out. He really wanted time alone with Hermione, but he didn’t want to be rude to the man who’d been nothing but kind to him. When they got to the parking lot, Draco saw Hermione standing off in the distance. He waved her over and she smiled widely and nearly jogged to him. “What a beaut, Draygo,” Henri commented next to him.

Hermione nearly bounced into the space before them and extended her hand. “You must be Henri. Draco’s told me about your offer of an apprenticeship! Thank you so much!”

She was peppy and bubbly and Henri smiled kindly and bowed, taking her hand. “Cher bebe. It’s my pleasuh. Draygo seems tuh have uh goo’ head on dem shoulduhs.”

She raised an eyebrow at his accent and smiled. “That he does.”

“Well…if you’ll both excuse me, I’m so hungray I coul’ eat an entiuh alligatuh,” he excused himself and Draco was grateful.

He hopped on his motorbike and Draco leaned back against a hearse, the nameplate in the window hidden behind his back. Hermione stepped into him and he took her face between his palms. “Ma petite cher bebe,” he poorly mimicked Henri’s voice with a gentle laugh before placing his lips on hers.

She leaned into him and he could feel the cooling charm she’d placed on herself radiating under his suit coat, giving him gooseflesh. She deepened the kiss and he smiled into her mouth when she knotted her hands into the nape of his neck.

A loud feminine clearing of the throat sounded beside them and the two broke apart at the lips. Hermione attempted to pull back, but Draco held her to himself with a steadfast palm on her hip. When he looked over, Natalie and Nathaniel were standing in front of the hearse he was leaning on. Natalie was looking at the couple, murder in her eyes as she took in the sight of Hermione. Nathaniel looked on in bored amusement.

“Draco…you didn’t tell me you had a…friend,” she finished with a hint of malice.

Hermione recoiled away from the acidic false politeness the redhead was spewing and looked up at Draco. He smiled charmingly. “Actually, this is the love of my life—and as of last night, fiancée—Hermione. And this is Natalie LeRoux, and her twin, Nathaniel. Their father owns a funeral home here in town.”

Natalie scoffed. “My family owns the funeral home here in town. All others pale in comparison.”

“Come off it, LeRoux. We only do fifty less calls than you a year and you have twice as many locations. That speaks to something,” came a masculine voice.

Adam Ambrose, who was introduced to Draco that morning in the parking lot, was the other apprentice at Bastien-Beaumont Mortuary. He was almost done with school and hosted what seemed to be a perpetually irritated façade. “Have fun with him,” Natalie whispered to Adam, venom in her voice. “He’s helpless.”

She looked at Draco and crossed her arms. “You think you could kindly get off my hearse so I can meet my daddy for lunch?”

Draco leaned up and opened the door for her. “See you in Religions.”

Hermione grasped the door before Natalie could close it. “I just wanted to thank you personally for extending kindness and generosity toward my fiancée. It’s not easy adjusting to life in a new country, especially whilst trying to maintain a long-distance relationship.”

Draco felt something in his nether region twitch at the icy tone of possessiveness underlying Hermione’s otherwise polite tone. Natalie smiled unkindly and glared once more at Adam before slamming the door of her hearse. They watched as Nathaniel got into the passenger side with a shrug and they left. “She is such a bitch,” Adam commented, lighting a cigarette.

He offered one to Draco, who politely declined. “Who’s your lady friend, Pony Boy?”

Draco raised an eyebrow as Hermione let out a barking laugh. “I’m not sure I understand?”

“It’s a reference to a film. The main character colors his hair bleach blond,” she said, ruffling his hair.

Draco pulled his head away and gave her a mock glare, using his fingers to comb his hair back into place. Adam laughed. “That and you prance around here like a pretty little show pony.”

Draco looked offended as Hermione shared an even harder laugh with Adam. “I’m Hermione. His fiancée,” she said, extending her hand.

“Adam,” he used the hand that wasn’t holding cigarette. “Don’t worry about Natalie. She’s just pissed because she thought she was going to get her grubby little talons on the pretty little British showpiece. And now, Miss Hermione has just squashed her little project before it could begin… But watch out. Hell hath no fury like Natalie LeRoux scorned,” he laughed, heading out into the lot toward a beat up old car.

“Why do I get the feeling you perched your pretty little arse on her hearse on purpose?” Hermione asked Draco when they were alone once more.

Draco grinned slyly. “Just thought I should be the one to introduce the love of my life to everyone I know.”

o-o-o

Later that same night, Draco and Hermione were in their new kitchen. Draco had changed into a simple black t-shirt and some lounge pants that hung low on his hips. Hermione was already in her pajamas—a cotton pair of blue and white striped shorts and a matching blue tank top that said, “I’m Having A Bad Hair Life” on it.

She had pulled out the wrapped chicken and was tenderly and patiently showing him how to trim fatty pieces away and rinse it. He nodded, trying to take in all of the information. She’d gone to the grocery earlier that day and purchased a few additional items, including what was needed to create a creamy white wine sauce and a cast iron skillet that she claimed to have ‘quick seasoned’ earlier that day. Whatever that meant.

“Here,” she told him, pouring a little oil into the pan. “Let’s get it nice and hot before we put the chicken in.”

Draco watched her as she moved around with ease. He had hoped to impress her and cook her a dinner, but he soon realized he was way in over his head and she’d stepped right in. She pulled potatoes from a plastic bag and ran them under the water and scrubbed the dirt off. “Here. Let’s slice these. Just as you would a bat spleen,” she said, looking at him.

“I’m sure there are ways to do all of this with magic,” he said, taking the knife from her and slicing the potatoes like he would an ingredient in potions.

“There are, and had I married Ron Weasley, Molly would have shown me all of the tricks of the trade, I’m sure. But, I am marrying you and I only know the Muggle way. So here we are,” she shrugged.

She set the chicken in the pan to cook and the seasonings she spread across them quickly made his mouth water. She tossed his pristinely chopped potatoes in a mixture and spread them out on another pan, putting them into the oven. “This kitchen is amazing.”

Hermione pulled the chicken from the pan and he watched as she added the wine and cream to the drippings to create a sauce. She had such a talent, and he’d never known. The entire house smelled amazing and she smiled at him. “Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to bake a cake.”

His stomach rumbled. “A chocolate one?” he asked hopefully.

Hermione smirked. “Your sweet tooth is adorable. Chocolate. With chocolate frosting. And we need to start getting our dairy delivered to the door. It’s the only way you’re going to get decent ice cream.”

“Done,” he said, anticipating the next day’s dessert already.

She turned off the stove as she looked away. “Er—I’m going to need money…” her voice trailed off as her cheeks flushed.

He grabbed her hand and said, “Come with me.”

He led her up the stairs and into the closet. He walked to the back and pulled away a few of his suits to reveal the front of a safe. “The code is 24-12-98,” he said with a smile.

The date of their first kiss. He pressed the code and whispered an ‘Alohomora!’ “It’s got a ward around it that only you and I can access as well. I didn’t trust the Muggles to create something secure.”

Hermione rolled her eyes as he opened the door of the safe. Her eyes grew wide when she looked inside. “This is about half of what I have left here. The other half is in a Muggle bank,” he reached inside and pulled out the plastic card with her name on it and handed it to her. “Apparently you can hand this in place of money and the bank knows how much to take out of the account…I dunno.”

“Merlin, Malfoy!” she said, looking at the stacks of money within the safe.

“I know it’s not much—I’ve got Theo hitting Gringott’s before he comes—”

“Not much? How rich are you?” she asked incredulously. “That’s more than enough for the next year.”

“We may not be married, but everything I have is yours as well. So unofficially, we are wealthy enough to fill this vault fifty times over, maybe more,” he said with a shrug. “You don’t have to ask. If you need something you come in here and take what you need.”

Hermione’s mouth was hanging open. Draco smiled at her. “Come on, little duck. We didn’t put a stasis on dinner and its getting cold.”

Draco was the one to make their plates, though he was sure Hermione’s presentation would have been much more pleasant. They took their food out onto the back porch and sat on the rocking chairs, lemonade she’d handmade earlier on a table between them. The sky was getting dark, made darker by angry looking rain clouds. The air smelled of the coming rain and Hermione bit her lip when she seemed to realize this at the same time he did. “You’ll be okay. You haven’t had an episode in a while. And the sound of it on the tin roof is…musical,” he said, setting his fork down to reach over and give her knee a squeeze.

She gave him a timid smile and took a bite of her food. “So you interview with Mr. Bastien tomorrow?” she asked him conversationally.

“I do. Henri and Adam are already referring to me as the new apprentice but I am so nervous,” he admitted. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He has no idea of your past,” she eyed his clearly visible Mark and scars. “You can be charming when you want to be.”

She was teasing him with a kind smile. He shrugged again. “I guess.”

“You’ll do fine, Pony Boy,” she told him with a gleeful laugh.

They finished eating as the night set in and the rain started pouring. The thunder here seemed more voracious, the rain even harder. They retired to the library, where Draco read to her from a Muggle book of her choice. She was nestled between his legs, her back against his chest. He had his legs pressed into her tightly, his arm around her and his chin resting on her shoulder.

The raindrops hitting the tin roof did sound truly musical and created a soothing atmosphere when coupled with the dim lighting of the library. “You okay?” he asked her, taking a break from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream to pepper kisses on her bare shoulder.

She leaned her head back into the base of his neck and he looked down at her. “What are you thinking about, pretty girl?” he asked her, kissing her forehead.

“How, just one year ago, I never would have pictured us here.”

“In New Orleans?” he asked, knowing full well what she meant.

“No, silly man. Wrapped together under a blanket, in a loving embrace as we read a book together, in a home of our own, deeply in love, engaged…take your pick,” she replied.

He put the book over the back of the library’s couch to keep their place and wrapped both arms tightly around her. “A year ago, you were shagging the Weasel…and I was already jealous.”

“And you went on to shag Astoria anyway…and I was jealous,” she returned.

He hummed. “All the fights…”

“All the angst…”

“It was delicious, wasn’t it? How we came to be?” he asked, pulling her hair to one side and smiling against her pulse.

o-o-o


	13. Chapter 13

The sun was streaming through the windows pleasantly the next morning. It was nearing eleven, and Draco had the interview in a couple short hours. Hermione seemed able to sense his anxiety, because she’d found the most delicious way to alleviate stress. They were in bed, he was naked as a jaybird and she was wearing only the flowy pajama tank top as she bent over him and kissed him fiercely.

Things were just about to take off, Draco’s hands under her shirt his fingers gripping into her hips tightly in anticipation when a loud chime sounded through the house. Hermione jumped with a start and pulled her face away from his. “What in the bloody hell?” His voice was beyond agitated.

“It’s the doorbell,” she said, leaning back and listening as the intruder knocked on the door impatiently.

“Let them fuck off. Now…where were we?”

He pulled the blankets up over them once more and leaned forward to take her lips once more, pulling her back down as he tried to settle in the bed once more. There was another rapid succession of knocks. Hermione hissed and climbed off of him and the bed and he groaned. “Hermione, leave them! Come back to bed, love.”

“We don’t know anyone here except the people you go to school with and Tabitha. It sounds urgent,” she said, pulling her shorts on and exiting the room.

He flopped back into the bed and tossed an arm over his eyes as he punched the bunched bedding on his side once in irritation. He was going to murder whoever was at the door. Draco listened as Hermione answered and then he froze. He recognized that sickeningly sweet Southern drawl. Fuck. Just perfect.

He stood and pulled on his lounge pants and retrieved his discarded shirt as he nearly sprinted out the door. He pulled the shirt on over his head, inside out and was just pulling his other arm through and down over his body as he finished descending the stairs. Natalie’s eyes were fixated on his bare chest as he pulled it down, an intrigued and admiring look on her face, despite the surprised eyebrow raised at the sight of his scars.

“Natalie, what in the fuck are you doing at our home?” he spat, his voice dangerous and filled with venom.

“Good morning, Draco. I was just stopping in to apologize to you properly. By way of a pie,” she smiled brightly, holding up a perfectly baked peach pie. “It’s only the right thing to do.”

Draco moved to stand in front of Hermione, the hairs on his arms standing up. “Do not touch that, Hermione. We’re not interested in your gesture or your false niceties. You show up at our home, unannounced? That is unacceptable and unsettling to say the least. Stay away from me and my betrothed, or you will regret it,” he warned, his voice more murderous than she’d ever heard.

“Draco,” Hermione’s soft voice came from behind him, her hand on his arm.

Natalie’s eyes looked at his Dark Mark and then at Hermione’s MUDBLOOD scarring. “I only came to apologize. We have to go to school together, so we’ll have to interact eventually.”

Natalie turned to leave, sauntering down to an expensive looking automobile. Draco couldn’t shake the unnerved feeling he had, the way her last words sounded more like a threat than a statement. “What was that all about?” Hermione asked as Draco shut the door.

Draco bristled, his arm hairs still sizzling with electricity, magic coursing through him in anger. “There’s something not right with her. Who just shows up at someone’s house—someone who has made it clear they don’t like you?”

“I think you’re overreacting a tad, honey,” Hermione said, wrapping her arms around him from behind.

“Maybe. I want you to start warding this place while I’m gone. I’ll finish when I get home,” he said, stepping out of her embrace. “If you suspect anyone near the home, you grab that damn signet ring and we will deal with the Muggles later.”

Draco went up the stairs to begin showering and preparing for his interview while Hermione sighed and went to make him some tea and a calming draught.

o-o-o

Draco’s nerves felt steadier as he headed into Bastien-Beaumont Mortuary. He was still uneasy about their encounter with Natalie and hoped the feeling was simply because her visit was so unannounced. He tried to shake the feeling that she’d done something to the pie.

He walked into a large low-country style home, the inside of which was decorated with plenty of French-influenced antique charm. There was a room to one side and he could hear voices coming from within. He stepped to the open door and gave a gentle knock. Inside, a young woman with long braids and striking features was speaking with Adam animatedly. They both turned their heads and the woman smiled widely. “Pony Boy! My my, you are quite the British showpiece,” she said, her voice teasing.

Draco internally groaned. Apparently that was his new nickname. At least it had a better ring than ferret. He outwardly put on a charming smile. “Draco Malfoy,” he shook her hand. “I’m here to interview with Mr. Bastien.”

“Of course. She lifted a phone to her ear and said into it, “Virgil, the new apprentice is here.”

After a moment she smirked. “Right this way.”

She led him up the stairs and into a small room that served as an office of sorts. An elderly man, who looked similar to Henri, was seated behind the desk. The man had strange clear ropes over his ears and into his nose and there was a strange noise each time he took a breath. Draco tried to stave off his curiosity and he extended his hand. “Draco Malfoy.”

The elderly man stood, somewhat weakly, and extended his hand. “Virgil Bastien. My son’s tol’ me a lot ‘bout you.”

“Henri’s been very kind to me,” Draco said politely as he sat in the chair across from Mr. Bastien.

“He’s a good boy. He seems to t’ink you gotta good head on yuh shoulders. I would say you pretty serious ‘bout dis if you came all de way to America to study mortuary sciences,” he said, his accent still present but not as thick as Henri’s.

“I am. I did a lot of research before selecting a place to move. I had a friend back in the UK who showed me pictures of New Orleans and fell in love,” Draco said, thinking back on Michele and Astoria, a slight pang in his heart as he missed his friend.

“Why you wanna be a mo’tician? Outta everything you could do?” Mr. Bastien asked, sitting back in his chair, his machine making sucking noises every time he took a breath.

Draco didn’t have a good, Muggle worthy answer to this. “I just feel drawn to it.”

Mr. Bastien nodded. “It’s definitely a calling. And not for de weak of heart.”

“I can handle it…I’ve been around deceased individuals before,” he commented.

Mr. Bastien nodded, almost as though he could see the haunted look in his eyes but didn’t comment further.

“Pay is minimum wage-$5.15 an hour,” the older man said.

“Ten,” Draco said, testing the waters.

“It’s not going to happen. Apprentices are a dime a dozen.”

“I am not a standard, lazy apprentice. I am a hard working individual and I throw myself into a task, full force until I complete it.” Not killing Dumbledore…

Draco tried to shake that wretched memory from his mind and stared at the man. He ran a finger over his lips as he stared back at Draco. “Eigh’. Final offer.”

“I’ll take it.”

“You in school at de moment, correct? Mondays and Tuesdays?”

Draco nodded and the man narrowed his eyes. “You’ll work eigh’ tuh five Wednesday t’rough Saturday. You on call every third nigh’ and every third Sunday during de day. Dat means someone dies at three in the morning, you up, drivin’ all over town and den coming back and embalming.

Draco thought about that. That was a lot of time away from Hermione. But this is what they’d moved to this country for, she’d understand. “I understand.”

The man looked at Draco with the shrewd look of a man who wasn’t used to a potential employee with such a strong personality. “Henri!” he finally called.

After a moment, Henri strolled in. “Pop.”

“Take young Draco around and show him the place. Welcome aboard, Pony.”

Draco smiled widely and rose to shake the man’s hand. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

The man lifted his hand in a wave of dismissal and gave him a kind smile in return. Henri gave Draco a clap on the back. “Come on, now.”

They walked through the top floor. Offices he described as “arrangement offices” lined one hall. They went through one and into a room with a bright white carpet and about thirty different caskets all propped up on wooden pedestals. He went in, his eyes wide and ran a hand over the smooth cherry finish of the closest one. “It’s amazin’, isn’ it?” Henri asked, looking over all of the open display caskets.

Draco walked around, taking in the interior colors and textures, the cold metal and shiny wood. They were all beautiful in their own way. “It’s incredible.”

“Well, le’s go a lil farthuh.”

Draco followed him down another hall and into an area labeled with warnings of formaldehyde and carcinogens…whatever they were. A large sign said, “EMPLOYEES ONLY.”

Henri turned to him and gave him a smile. “Dis where de magic happen,” he said, drawing out the word magic and waving his fingers.

Draco looked at the man, amused. If only Henri knew of the real magic this world held. He opened the door to a stark white room. There were two separate rooms, separated by an opened partition. In the room beyond, there were two steel, six and a half foot tables leading into what looked like loos. There were machines in front of each, hoses running out of the sides. Metal enclosed trays hung on the wall. To one side of the room was a large curio cabinet, filled with different bottles of pink, orange and red chemicals. A metal cart was next to him and Draco took a moment to look over the trays contents. The tools of his new trade—all stainless steel things that looked like scissors, clamps, prods, tweezers. There were rolls of spun cotton, metal strings and strange plastic disks. Something he didn’t even have a comparison for to one side. He ran a finger over it. “‘ey, ‘ey. Don’ touch nuttin in heuh without gloves.”

Draco drew his hand back and raised an eyebrow. Gloves? Of course they’d have some kind of barrier against bacteria—Muggles couldn’t put disinfecting charms on their hands. “Dis de embalmin’ room—also known as de prep room or de operatin’ room. And dis,” he pointed over his shoulder into the room they crossed through to get into the prep room, “is de dressing room. Left side is fuh ladies, right is fuh gentlemen.”

Draco looked back into the room and there were more tables in here, not metal but some other material. And sitting atop one, was the white-sheet shrouded outline of a deceased human being. He hadn’t noticed when they first walked in—he’d been too focused on the strange metal tables beyond. But now, here it was. The moment of truth.

Draco hadn’t seen a dead body since the War, and those had been the mangled bodies of his fallen friends, enemies, classmates. His heart suddenly began to race and he could feel his palms starting to sweat. “You all righ’? You not gonna fain’ on me, are you?” Henri asked, looking at him.

Draco shook his head as Henri walked over to the shroud and pulled the sheet back far enough to see the peaceful face of an elderly woman, covered in some kind of white cream but otherwise appearing as though in slumber. Draco took in a sharp breath. “Dey don’ bite, mon copain. And dey rarely complain,” he finished with a loud laugh.

The blond simply nodded, wiping his palms on his pants as Henri recovered her face. “Come on. Le’s meet de crew. Dey all gettin’ ready tuh go out on uh service.”

Draco followed him down the stairs and barely listened as he pointed into rooms he said were reserved for ‘visitations and calling hours.” All Draco could see was that little woman’s face. Henri led him into an area off of the first original room, where there was a makeshift living room and kitchenette set up, a room full of people. “Dis de lounge.”

He went through and pointed to each person. The woman who had greeted Draco was first. “Dis Calypso—Caly,” he said, drawing out her name so it sounded more like “Collieepzo—Colliee.”

The woman gave him a wink. “I’m his wife and a director. I rank higher than him,” she said, gesturing to Henri with a laugh.

Next was an elderly, poised woman of color who oozed dignity and commanded respect. “I’m Deirdre Bastien. Virgil’s wife. Director and operations manager.”

“His mother?” Draco asked, looking to Henri.

Henri smiled sadly. “Not by birth, but de only mudduh I’ve known, huh, mama?” he said and Deirdre smiled kindly.

“That’s right, bebe,” she said.

Draco felt awkward and was thankful when the next person stood. A large bear of a man with a sunburnt face and an indifferent set to his exhausted face. “Bill Beaumont.”

“You’re name’s on the sign,” Draco said. “So, effectively my boss.”

“That’s right. Virgil and I own this jointly,” Bill said, shaking Draco’s hand gruffly.

Adam raised one hand, his demeanor as irritated as usual. “Pony.”

Draco nodded in his direction. “This is the St. Bernard bunch. We also got chapels in a two other parishes—Plaquemines and St. Tammany. You won’t go there too much. My pop and Bill own all three but each run independently,” Henri explained.

“I suspect you still need to get your Louisiana driver’s license?” Bill asked, pouring himself a cup of black coffee.

“Yes, sir,” Draco said, his stomach rolling at the thought of learning to drive.

“You’ve got one week. We need someone who can drive,” Bill said. “And dress code is a suit, collared shirt and tie every day, regardless. Black suit, white shirt and company issued tie when on funeral services. Name tag at all times. Except when you’re embalming. You can wear scrubs when in the preparation room. But have suit at the ready. The day begins at eight sharp and ends when the work is done. Keep careful track of all of your time—you will submit your hours to Deirdre at the end of each week.”

“I understand, sir.”

Bill clapped him on the back as he walked past him. “You’ll do fine, Pony. Listen to everyone and take a little from each. You’ll get your own groove going soon. Come on Caly and Adam. We’ve got a man to bury and a family to serve.”

The others filed out and Deirdre left as well, stirring her own cup of coffee. “You’ll do just fine, sugar,” she said with a wink.

Alone, Draco turned to Henri. “I didn’t mean to misspeak about Deirdre. I didn’t realize…”

Henri nodded and waved his hand. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, retrieving a photograph. “My mother. She was murdered when I was one. Her death was de reason my pop got into dis bus’ness.”

Draco took the photo and looked at a beautiful woman of no more than twenty—stationary and holding a rose to her lips, her eyes playful. He turned it over. Nanette LeVeau-Bastien, 1980. He handed it back to Henri and smiled politely. “She was beautiful, mate.”

“She was Creole and feisty as hell my pop says,” Henri told him, replacing the photo. “Pop’s dad was white Acadian French. Cajun. His mama was Creole. Dey lived on de bayou, where my pop was rais’ wit’ strongly Cajun influence. Mama was a Creole mix of white, Wes’ African, and Choctaw native. Creole and Cajun are not de same t’ing. But de two blend in my fam’ly all de way back. When my mama died, we moved in wit my gran’fadduh. It took a long time befuh my fadduh built his business up.”

Draco nodded, a very minimal knowledge of Louisiana Creole culture not helping him add much to the conversation. Henri laughed at the look on his face. “Don’ look so ovuhwhelmed, Draygo. You’ll do all righ’. Jus’ watch ev’ryone. All. De. Time. Now, you met de crew, seen de place. Why don’ you run on home tuh yuh pretty lil wife? You ‘bout tuh work hard, long houhs.”

“Yeah…I need to learn how to drive…and fast,” Draco replied, running a hand through his hair.

Henri laughed again. “Befuh you go, le’s go see de fleet.”

He led Draco outside, and a garage of some kind at the back of a huge parking lot. “You ready tuh piss yuh pannies?” Henri asked, giddy all of a sudden.

Draco laughed loudly and Henri lifted a large rolling door. Inside of the garage was a huge workspace. There were eight motorcycles all lined up and one that looked as though it was being rebuilt in the center by a workbench. The smell was musty and Draco didn’t recognize it, but Henri breathed it in like it was the secret to a long life. Draco ran a finger along the closest bike. “You look intrigue’, Draygo.”

“They look positively…exhilarating,” he replied, thinking of having the wind blow through his hair once more, his broom locked in a trunk for the foreseeable future.

Henri laughed. “When yuh get yuh license, we can take ‘em out.”

Draco smiled and nodded. “Absolutely,” he said.

Perhaps Hermione didn’t need to know…

o-o-o

“A Mercedes, Draco?” Hermione groaned.

“Why not? Bill drives one, so they must be quality,” Draco justified.

“They’re expensive,” she argued.

“I’m rich. Your argument is invalid,” he said, pulling her onto the car lot.

Hermione glared at him. He nearly stomped his foot impatiently. “This will be my car—you can get whatever you want. But please, come in with me so you can drive us out of here.”

Hermione groaned and followed him reluctantly.

o-o-o

Three hours later, Hermione was navigating her way through city streets, having a little difficulty as Americans drove on the opposite side of the car and opposite side of the road. She thought that perhaps she hadn’t agreed to allow Draco to create a fake driver’s license for her and instead actually studied for the Louisiana State driving test.

Draco was sitting next to her, looking equal parts terrified and excited as she navigated them to the long winding road where they lived. “Okay, get out and switch sides,” she said, climbing out.

Draco did as he was told and sat in the seat, his legs smushed against the wheel. Hermione took his hand and led it to the side of his seat. “Here. These adjust the seat,” she said as she pushed the button and his seat slid back until he was comfortable.

She came around and climbed into the passenger side. “Okay. First, buckle in. Always,” she said, doing just that.

Draco followed suit. “Now, see that little knob right below the window? Turn it to the left and then it will go up and down. That adjusts the mirrors,” she said.

Draco pushed and pulled the knob back and forth and watched the mirror move in fascination. Hermione laughed. “If that excited you, wait until you make this beast move,” she said, patting the door of the Mercedes-Benz S-class that he’d chosen in black.

“Now, can you see that car next to you in the mirror?” she asked, conjuring a car after glancing around to make sure they were definitely alone on their property.

He nodded. “Okay, good. Adjust this over here so you could do the same.”

Draco did. Hermione tapped the rearview mirror. “Adjust this so you can see the entirety of the back window.”

Draco did. “Okay. This is an automatic—thank sweet Merlin. So that pedal to the left in the middle is the brake—to stop the car. The one on the right is the gas—to go. Put your foot firmly down on the brake pedal and then put your hand over this,” she pointed to a handle protruding from between them, “and adjust it to where the ‘D’ lights up. That means drive,” she explained.

He pressed his foot as hard as he could and pulled the knob until the ‘D’ was lit up. Hermione took a deep breath. “Okay. Now, take your foot off of the brake and press gently on the gas.”

Draco took his foot and moved it to the right. He put his foot down what he thought was gently and the car lurched forward quickly. Hermione’s eyes grew wide and she grabbed the door. “Okay, okay. Too hard.”

Draco used his left foot to brake and she shook her head. “Tuck your left foot in and use only the right.”

He did as instructed and the car coasted a few feet. “Hermione! It’s moving with out me!”

She laughed. “It’s supposed to. Tap the gas.”

He tapped his toe against it and again they lurched forward quickly. “Blast. Keep going at this pace and head toward the left. Turn the wheel gently, Draco.”

He did and the car turned. Not much different than navigating a broom. “Draco. Draco! You’re heading straight for the porch!” she shrieked.

Draco took his hands off the wheel and threw them in the air. “Oh my Gods!”

Hermione grabbed the wheel and shifted it to the left sharply and they narrowly avoided the porch. “Brake, Draco, brake!”

Draco pressed the left pedal harshly and they skidded to a stop, both of them thrashing forward. Hermione threw the car in park. “Do not ever take your hands off the wheel! This is a two-ton vehicle, Draco, not a broomstick! You cannot get that close to other things thinking you’ll turn at the last moment!” her voice was high and shaken.

Draco’s own hands were shaking. It never occurred to him that he couldn’t turn quickly. He reached over and grabbed Hermione’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Hermione put a hand over heart. “It’s okay. Just scared me. I thought our arses were going under the porch.”

“I have to learn this, duckie,” he said, placing both hands on the wheel.

“Come on, put it in drive and slowly try to get out of the grass and back onto the driveway,” she replied, grabbing his thigh and giving it a squeeze and then two pats.

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I fucking love this story. This Draco is my favorite of all my Dracos.
> 
> Also, I made a collage of what everyone at Bastien-Beaumont Mortuary, St. Bernard Chapel looks like. Find it on tumblr at themourningmadam.
> 
> Henri is going to be a good friend for Draco, I think. Not exactly Theo, but a good match for him. Adam is going to be good, too because he’s all broody like Draco can be.  
> Please review this tale of mine! I would love feedback!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, you guys have an assignment before you read this chapter. Y’all are picking up what I’m putting down with Natalie, but not so much with Henri. To get you in the mood for this chapter, I want you to do two things simultaneously. One, go google Shameik Moore—he is my Henri (I imagine a beautiful Creole man with a strangely Cajun lilt to his accent, sporting the prettiest smile). Two, go pull up “Voodoo Child (Slight Return)” by Jimi Hendrix on Youtube (should be the first video). Okay, now stare at your favorite picture of Shameik and imagine him grinning and bobbing his head and getting into the beginning of this song. Listen to all five minutes and thirteen seconds of this song—this is imperative. Now, imagine this is all taking place in a mechanic’s garage behind an old cabin on the edge of the bayou, the smell of motor oil and cinderblocks and grime. The sweltering Louisiana heat making you sweat and a couple of cold beers dripping all over a large wooden workbench, covered with various mechanics tools- wrenches and odds and ends. Draco watching on in amusement, bobbing his head as well (now that we know he’s all about old rock anyway).
> 
> Okay. You’re ready for this chapter.
> 
> ***I’ve gone back and forth with Henri’s accent. He’s keeping it. I’m sorry for the confusion. But it’s just…him. I can’t not see him speak that way. If that’s a make or break for you, sorry.

Draco had spent every waking moment driving that blasted car around—Hermione gripping the door with white knuckles every step of the way—and he had passed his driving test Monday after school. He was following Henri Tuesday after school down a long dirt road through winding trees. Henri had invited him over to his home to celebrate and had promised to show him his workspace. Draco hoped they would be able to get around to a motorcycle-riding lesson. Hermione was meeting with Tabitha and a designer with regards to the refuge, so he had a few hours.

When they reached the end of the long road, they came upon a small clearing. There was an old cabin ahead, raised up on stilts, unpainted and weathered with a wide front porch. Along the porch’s roof hung various white washed animal bones, feathers and strange baubles. Draco raised an eyebrow as he closed his car door and eyed white washed animal skulls lining the porch railings. All around the house, cypress trees and branches provided a shady overhang, Spanish moss tickling the roof. A swampy area ran under the home and spread out behind it, the trees growing up out of the water. To their left, taking up the rest of the non-marshy area of the clearing, was another cinderblock structure—Henri’s second work area.

“Le’s go on in, Draygo. Change outta dese penguin suits,” Henri called, propping his bike up and taking off his helmet.

Draco heard him whisper something to himself as he opened the door, but he was too distracted by the strange trinkets on the porch to notice what. Inside the home, Henri led him through a living room—every inch of which was covered in candles, incense, more animal bones, crystals, crosses and strange symbols that Draco didn’t recognize were carved into wood surfaces. There was a terrarium, not unlike Eugene’s, housing a giant snake.

“Henri—what is all of this?” Draco asked, running a finger over a large alligator skull that hung on one wall.

He shrugged. “I guess Caly and I are…essentric.”

Eccentric? Draco raised his eyebrow. Luna Lovegood was eccentric and he doubted her home was covered in skulls. He followed his friend into the kitchen and it was more of the same. Various plants hung around the ceiling, vines winding their way along the walls edges and he smelled the sharp smell of incense. Henri opened the refrigerator and handed him a cold beer, popping the cap off with deft ability.

“Yuh look a lil smaller dan me, but I t’ink I got sometin’ that migh’ fit yuh,” Henri told him, walking in through another door into what Draco presumed was his bedroom.

He emerged a few minutes later, carrying a pair of shorts and a pair of shoes. “Caly bough’ dese for me and dey don’ fit. Nevuh worn. Maybe you can wear ‘em,” he said, holding up one trainer.

Draco nodded, knowing he would just magic them to fit. He stepped into a bathroom, once again covered in plants and candles, a statue of a man on the sink. He quickly changed out of his suit and pulled on the clothing Henri had provided, using magic to make the shorts and shoes fit. He had only his white t-shirt on and he eyed his Dark Mark, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Henri wouldn’t know what it was, but the scars that ran parallel to it were very evident attempts at taking his own life. What would he say if Henri asked about them? Draco dropped his arm to his side and put his chin up. He wouldn’t hide it like some coward. These Muggles had no idea what he’d been through, that he was Death Eater.

Defiant, Draco opened the door and stepped into the living room. Henri was already dressed and sitting on his couch, sipping his beer. He stood and led Draco outside to the garage. “Dis more my actual work space. De garage at de back of de fun’ral home is where de bikes are housed…I needed two places,” he explained, lifting the rolling garage door.

The door opened to another area, similar to the one behind the funeral home’s property. But here, there was a single bike in various unfinished parts. It was musty and dank and he smelled that sharp smell once more. There were different metal tools all around the garage, littering a waist high wooden workbench.

“Dis where de magic happens, Pony Boy,” Henri said, mimicking his words from the prior week and extending his arms at everything.

The garage was dim and dingy, dirtier than anywhere Draco had ever willingly gone. The Louisiana heat was stifling, even in the early evening, and he could feel his hair sticking to the nape of his neck already. But Henri was proud and Draco smiled. “It’s great,” he replied with enthusiasm.

Henri stepped around him to get to the Muggle radio and he turned it on and tuned it passed the static. The sound of a guitar came across it and Henri smiled widely. “You like Hendrix?” Henri asked, pointing a single finger at Draco in question.

Draco shrugged and Henri grinned and turned the music up louder. He bobbed his head in time with the music. “Yeahhh,” he crooned, looking over at Draco, a grin splitting his face in two.

“Lord knows I’m a voodoo child…”

Draco smiled and sat on a stool, bobbing his head some as well. Henri stepped between he and the bike and tucked a towel into his front pocket. He knelt down on the ground, and began tinkering. Draco watched on in amusement. Henri sang along to the radio. “So, Pony, you gonna explain dat strange tat on yuh arm?”

Damn. He was going to bring it up. Draco swallowed hard and cleared his throat, taking a sip of beer to try and moisten his now cotton dry esophagus. “Let’s just say I’ve made a few mistakes in my life.”

Henri looked up at him. “Dere’s evidently uh story dere.”

A feeling that Draco hadn’t felt in a long while began to stir within him—inexplicable irritation and brooding. “There is. And perhaps for a different day.” After I have time to formulate a lie.

Henri nodded and turned back to his motorcycle. “You in a strange lan’, far from yuh home, Draygo. You gonna need someone tuh open up tuh, besides dat pretty lil bride uh yuhs. I’m ready tuh listen when you ready tuh talk.”

Draco was taken aback. This man, who hardly knew him, was offering an unconditional friendship. And his lighthearted spirit reminded him a lot of Theo, when Theo was having a good day. “I appreciate that,” he finally settled on.

Henri bobbed his head once in acknowledgment. For the next few hours, they spoke of varying topics. The upcoming next day was Draco’s first day as an apprentice and Henri went through some of the things he should expect. He went into the home and brought back a stack of CDs and schooled Draco on varying types of music—things he called ‘Delta blues,’ ‘hip-hop,’ ‘rock and roll,’ ‘boy bands.’ He had the uncanny ability to feel the soul of any song he was listening to and knew the words to every one. He danced around and explained the backgrounds of the musicians. Henri spoke of growing up on the bayou, poor and discontented as his father tried to build the funeral home business up from the ground. Draco told him of growing up affluent and of the pressure put on him to excel in every way, carefully skirting around anything magical. He assured Henri that money did not a happy home make.

“How you meet yuh girl?” Henri asked as he wiped grease on the towel in his pocket and then tossed the towel onto his workbench.

“We attended the same school. We hated each other for years. Like…seven years. But last year, I was in a dark place in my life and there she was. She fought for me and drew me out of my shell,” Draco smiled fondly as he thought of his witch.

They were leaning against the workbench. Henri had his arms crossed over his chest and Draco’s were on either side of his hips on the edge of the table. “She sound a lot like my Calypso. Fierce. Unrelentin’.”

Draco laughed. “She is that. We should all get together soon and have dinner.”

Henri nodded and smiled. “Dat sound good.”

He looked up at a clock on the wall and stood upright. “Caly will be home soon. I didn’ realize how late it was. I’m sure yuh girl will wanna see yuh befuh you start workin’ tuhmorrow.”

Draco stood as well. “I look forward to it,” he said, following Henri out of the garage and into the dark night.

“Watch out fuh alligatuhs. Dey hunt at nigh’,” Henri said, closing the garage door.

Draco looked around them, toward the bayou seeping into the clearing and shivered in the warm air. Henri laughed. “Night, Draygo. Go make swee’ swee’ lovin’ to yuh wifey. ‘Cause you ‘bout tuh find out what it means tuh be exhausted.”

Draco laughed and shook his head, giving his friend a wave as he got into his car. The entire way home, he thought of how inconvenient driving was. Apparating was so much more efficient. He was still uneasy navigating the infernal contraption.

He pulled up the long drive, feeling the strong magic of the wards roll over him. He pulled in behind Hermione’s auto—a sensible Toyota that made him roll his eyes when she’d bought it. He doubted she’d ever get used to being wealthy. She was sitting on the porch swing, wrapped in a thin blanket and reading. He took the stairs two at a time and she put her book on the nearby table. “How was your meeting with Tabitha?” he asked, lifting her legs and sitting under them.

He pulled her bare foot out from under her throw and began massaging the sole with deft ability. She moaned at the feel. “That feels good,” she said, putting her head back against the swing’s armrest before answering.

“The meeting went well. We have an absolutely enormous parcel of land within wizarding New Orleans. We will have the capability of being twice the size of St. Barter’s. The designer said he can have everything built and ready to accept creatures in about a month,” Hermione said, smiling as she thought of the good work they were doing.

“I suspect you’ll be hunting down the house elves soon enough then,” he teased, switching to her other foot.

She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at him. “As a matter of fact, Tabitha has a few connections here in the states and I will be meeting with them in the coming weeks.”

“Your spew campaign is really taking off,” he grinned.

She kicked him gently and he feigned hurt, laughing the whole time. He pulled her up by the arm and leaned into her. “It’s really admirable, love,” he whispered, his face close enough to hers that she could already taste his spearmint flavor.

Hermione planted a gentle kiss on his lips and he leaned her back once more. One of his legs was bent on the swing and his other leg rested over it, dangling off the swing as he turned into her. He ran a hand over the blanket on her lap and it came to rest under her hair on her neck as they kissed in the sultry Louisiana night.

He pulled back after a moment. “What do you say we go upstairs and I draw you a bath?” he asked, kissing her neck lightly.

She hummed in response, the feel of it tickling his lips along her skin. He pulled back and she dropped her legs over the side of the swing and stood, placing the blanket on the swing as she stretched. Draco eyed the bronzed flesh of the backs of her thighs in appreciation and stood as well.

“You go up. I’ll be there in a moment,” Hermione said when they entered their home.

Draco closed the door and whispered their nightly locking and securing charms before he took the stairs to their room two at a time. He toed off Henri’s shoes and padded into their bathroom. He ran the water into the deep basin of the tub, testing to make sure it was the precise temperature Hermione enjoyed—not scalding, but warmer than he preferred.

Hermione had purchased a large apothecary jar of dried herbs and flowers to create a soothing bath—lavender, dried rosemary, dried rose petals, chamomile. Draco reached into the glass jar and retrieved a handful, sprinkling the contents over the water’s surface. The sweet aroma rose with the steam around him and he smiled at the way something so simple could soothe him.

She entered the bathroom, carrying a tray with her. Atop the tray sat two glasses of a deep burgundy elf wine and the rest of the bottle. There was also a bowl of fruit and a few squares of dark chocolate. “To set the mood,” she explained, blushing at the inherent corniness of it all.

Draco smiled. “Ah, you want romance? Ambience?” he teased lightly, and with a wave of his hand their supply of candles all flew out of the bathroom’s towel cabinet.

They placed themselves around the room and another wave of his hand extinguished their electric lights and lit all of the candles. The soft glow created a warm and soothing feel and Hermione set the tray on the vanity counter. Draco stepped into her. “I can be romantic,” he whispered into her ear and he felt her shiver as he ran his hands down her arms.

He pulled her shirt up over her head and made quick work of her brassiere, palming her breasts each in turn in appreciation. She was wearing a pair of capris and he unbuttoned them, sliding them and her knickers down in one fluid motion, dropping to one knee as he did to kiss down her stomach. He stood and smiled, and bubbles appeared in the tub next to them. “Climb in,” he commanded and she pouted.

“Why are you still clothed?” she asked, running her nails up under his shirt.

“Because, tonight is about you, love,” he replied, pulling her gently to the edge of the tub.

Hermione sighed and climbed into the bath, the water the perfect temperature. She sat and put her back against one side. The tub was large enough that she could stretch her legs out before her. Draco ran his hand lovingly over her forehead, pushing her hair away from her face as the steam made her soft waves turn curly. He quickly undressed himself and sat on the edge of the tub behind her, placing his legs on either side of her. She waved her hand and the radio in their bedroom began to play “In the Still of the Night” by the Five Satins—music she had once said was the epitome of romance. The corners of his lips turned up, a small smile playing at his lips. The whole thing was cliché, but he had never felt happier.

Hermione straightened up some and put her head back once more, her now wild tendrils tickling his lap. He lathered his hands in her vanilla potion and brought them to her shoulders. He massaged her bare skin, using his thumbs to work through particularly tight knots. She sang along to the music, her eyes closed before she let out a particularly enthusiastic moan at his touch. He smirked and bent down to place a kiss on her forehead. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

Draco let out a throaty laugh. “I’m hardly a catch.”

She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. “Are you kidding? Look at everything you have done for us, for me. You went to Australia to help me when I needed you. You came here and bought this incredible house and designed it for me. You’re helping me make my life’s dreams come true. You shower me in love and adoration every day. I feel like this is so incredible one sided. What could I ever do to repay you?”

Draco sighed and pushed her shoulders forward, indicating that he wanted her to scoot forward some so he could climb in behind her. “I did all of that because I love you. I have never expected you to repay me. You’re my witch. You’re mine,” he growled playfully, wrapping his arms around her.

“I’m yours,” she replied, happily leaning into his embrace.

“Forever?” he teased.

“And always. I am so in love with you, Draco Malfoy,” she cooed.

“Properly?”

“Properly.”

Her words made Draco grin like a fool and he wrapped her up tighter, kissing along her exposed shoulders, giving her a nip here and there. She reached her arm behind her and laced it into his soft hair as he continued his trail of kisses. Hermione could feel that he was aroused and she attempted to move so she could attend to him. “No,” his voice was husky and gruff as he held her in place. “Tonight’s all about you, kitten.”

He ran his hand over the skin of her thigh under the lavender toned milkiness of the water, the bubbles dissipating some. She sighed and allowed him to take control—there were plenty of days ahead to repay these particular gestures.

o-o-o

Hermione awoke to the haunting sound of a harsh scream that night. Her eyes shot open, but she was disoriented in her sleepy state and she threw her arm next to her to feel for Draco. The space where he should have been was still warm but he wasn’t there.

It took a few more blinks of her eyes to clear the sleep away and for her to realize it was his guttural screams piercing the night. She sat up straight and saw his form in the pale moonlight of the bedroom. He had dropped to his knees in a crumpled piled on the floor by the door and he was clutching his left arm. There was a dark puddle spreading around him and the sight of it made Hermione grab her wand and jump from the bed in one go.

“Draco!” her voice was a horrified and panicked shriek.

She ran before him, trying and failing to avoid the puddle that quickly spread around his limp form. He was still screeching, but his voice was growing hoarse. She knelt before him and he looked up at her with anguished eyes as he clutched his arm, blood running around them.

“‘Mio—nee…help…”

o-o-o


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****A/N: I had changed Henri’s accent. But I’m going back to Cajun. Honestly, it’s just him. I can’t envision him speaking any other way. A lot of people have said that. In the end I gotta be true to my story, to authenticate it and make it feel more like I’m trying to portray. I’m sorry if its off putting, if you have difficulty reading it (might I suggest listening to Cajun accents on youtube to help navigate?), or if it makes my story only 4 out of 5 stars. I’m okay with this. But, his accent is what makes Henri, Henri. 
> 
> Even his name, On-ree. I can’t say it any other way.
> 
> It is what it is, my friends. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

“Who the fuck are you?” a sharp, familiar male voice was cutting into Draco’s slumber.

Draco’s arm was throbbing painfully and his entire body felt heavy and drained of any and all energy. He let out a harsh groan and pressed his head back into the pillows once more. He wasn’t ready to wake just yet.

“Everyone shut up, he’s waking up,” said a second male voice.

That roused him—the distinct contrast between the two accents. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked to force his vision to clear. The bright light overhead burned and made his eyes water in streams. When he could finally see, he was almost certain he was still dreaming. He was in a stark white room, in a hard bed and covered with layers of blankets. There were things beeping and buzzing all around. But most peculiar, was the grouping of individuals in the room: Theo and Ginny were sitting to one side of the bed, Hermione on his other side, grasping his hand. But even stranger to his clouded brain, were Henri and Adam standing in the doorway.

“Where…?” his voice was hoarse and his throat burned.

Hermione leaned forward and gave his hand another gentle squeeze. She gently shushed him. “Sweetheart, you’re in St. Julian’s Hospital for Magical Maladies,” she said, and her voice was thick and husky as though she’d been crying.

Draco looked over at her and attempted to raise his hand to touch her face. He found his arm too heavy to lift. She sensed his desire and she came closer to him and brushed the hair from his head and leaned in to plant a kiss on his skin. “How…”

“Don’t try to speak, love. You’ll exhaust yourself,” his fiancée said, pulling his blankets up around him a little tighter, fretting over him.

Draco’s head was swimming and he felt a foggy confusion. “Oonn-ree?” he groaned as he tried to reposition himself.

Henri came forward. Theo stood and stepped in front of him. “Is anyone going to tell me who the fuck these guys are?” he said, glaring at the two morticians.

“Theo, this is Henri and Adam. They work with Draco at the funeral home,” Hermione explained.

“Wiz…”

Henri put his hands up in surrender to Theo. “Pony, you feelin’ okay?” he asked, stepping around Theo as the Brit stared him down.

“Theo, it’s all right,” Ginny said, pulling Theo’s arm.

“All right? We get a frantic owl from Narcissa saying that Draco almost died and you think it’s all right?” Theo spat, jerking his arm from Ginny’s grasp.

“You…wiz…” Draco was having a hard time formulating coherent thoughts, let alone full sentences.

“I’m uh wizard, yeah. Adam’s a squib,” Henri replied, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.

Adam was sullen as ever behind Theo and gave him a slight wave of the hand and a sarcastic grimace of a smile. Draco narrowed his eyes. Hermione was frowning next to him. “I had to call them to let them know you weren’t going to be in to work on Wednesday. And then they showed up here,” she explained.

Her frowned deepened. “They knew who you were the whole time.”

Draco’s agonized frown matched hers. Even thousands of miles away in Muggle America, he was still known. He’d never escape his past. Adam ambled lazily from the doorway toward where Henri was standing next to Draco’s bed. “It’s okay, Pony Boy. We know you were a Death Eater. We don’t give a fuck—you’re reformed.”

Henri nodded his agreement. At the mention of Draco’s past, the blond tried to lift his weakened left arm once more. It was wrapped heavily in white bandages and he grunted and dropped it to the bed. Hermione was biting her lip next to him and he raised an eyebrow at her. His throat hurt too bad to speak just yet, but he had so many questions. What had happened? How did he end up in the magical hospital? How long had he been here?

Hermione pushed his hair back once more. As though she could read his mind, she began to speak. “Do you remember getting out of bed Tuesday night?” she asked quietly.

Draco tried to recall the situation but couldn’t remember even climbing into bed. “Bath,” he mumbled.

Hermione nearly sighed a breath of relief as she gave a short nod. “After the bath, we went to bed. A few hours later, you were out of bed and on the floor screaming…there was so much blood. Draco, I’ve never been so scared…even during the Final Battle,” her voice was thick with emotion.

He fought against the leaded feeling in his arm and lifted his hand to her cheek and gave a short grunt. How had he ended up on the floor bleeding? “Kingsley and the President of MACUSA are here speaking with the Healers,” Theo said, his voice still sour.

Draco put his head back and closed his eyes. Henri and Adam were part of the magical community? How? Why hadn’t Draco sensed Henri’s magic? Flashes of Henri’s cabin on the bayou flashed through his mind. All of the animal bones, the incense, the sigils carved into the wood tables. His mother’s photograph. Nanette LeVeau-Bastien, 1980. “Voodoo?” he croaked out and Henri laughed.

“Lord knows I’m uh Voodoo chil’,” Henri agreed with a wide grin.

“I’m sorry. What in the ever loving fuck is going on?” Theo asked once more, confused by the strange conversation.

“The Healers have run test after test. So far, they’ve not been able to detect any Dark magic. He just woke up and was screaming. His Mark…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she looked back down to where Draco opened his eyes.

“His Mark, what?” Theo demanded to know.

“Theo, calm down,” Ginny urged the burly man.

“Do not tell me to call down again, Ginevra. I want answers, and I’m sure Draco does, too!” he bellowed and Adam and Henri both eyed him warily.

“It’s okay, Gin,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Draco…you’re Mark…after I finally stopped the bleeding, it looked almost as though it had been…carved open and black ink had been poured into it…It looks as though Voldemort himself just branded you,” she said, her voice pained and her face guarded.

Draco pulled his hand away from where she held it and pulled his other one up to pick at the corner of the bandage. Damn his weakness—he couldn’t even muster the energy to dispose of it with wandless magic. Hermione swatted his hand and took his left arm gently between them. She ran her wand over it and the bandage slid off, pulling only a couple of stray arm hairs in its wake. She took a deep breath and held it as she pulled the white cotton away.

Draco let out an anguished moan as he saw his left forearm. His Dark Mark was no longer a red scar burned into his flesh. It was black as night once more, swollen and red around the edges, just as it had been the first night he’d received it. Adam turned one corner of his mouth down quickly before righting his features. “Jesus, fuck, Pony,” he said.

Theo glared at the undertaker and moved between he and Draco once more. “Look, Squib, I suggest you refrain from speaking out of turn again. I will not hesitate to use my very real magic to hex your arse.”

Adam grit his teeth and set his jaw, fully prepared for a bare knuckle fist fight if need be. Henri grabbed Theo’s arm. “Look, man, dere’s no need fuh dat. We may not know Draygo as you do jus’ yet, but we want de best fuh him. We know he’s uh reform’ Death Eater, but he moved all de way to New Orl’ns tuh make uh name fuh himself—away from all dat drama back home. We’re uh family at de fun’ral home and we stick togedduh. Res’ assured we will fin’ out who’s behind dis.”

Theo eyed Adam and nodded once. “You’d better. Or I’m hauling his sorry arse back to Wiltshire.”

“Is everyone…magic?” Draco’s tiny voice sounded.

Henri smirked down at his friend. “Well, Adam’s mag-i-lackin,’” he said and Adam rolled his eyes in agitation. “An’ myself and Calypso are de only two. My fadduh obviously know, but he, Bill and Deirdre are No-maj’s. They live in ignorant bliss, which is why we do t’ings de No-maj way at de fun’ral home.”

Draco groaned once more. “Shit.”

Adam shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shoved his hands in his pockets. “We told Bill and Virgil you were in a car accident. Trust me, I’ve seen the way you drive. They bought it.”

“What’s today?”

“Saturday,” Hermione replied. “You’ve been here since Tuesday night.”

“Saturday?” Draco repeated, panicked.

He’d been hospitalized through the entirety of his first week as an apprentice. He hadn’t studied for upcoming tests or done any homework. “When can I…go?” he asked, attempting once more to sit up.

Hermione pushed him gently back into the bed. “Just rest. You can come home tomorrow if you feel better. The President and Minister would like to speak with you.”

Draco grimaced and turned toward Theo and Ginny. “Mother?”

“She’s kind of a mess, really,” Ginny said, exchanging a look with Theo. “Lovely woman. Not the least bit intimidating…”

Draco scoffed and Hermione let out a snort of laughter. “She’s understandably worried, mate. But we told her we’d make sure to update her, so I suppose we owe her a floo call now,” Theo remarked.

“Eugene?”

“He’s here,” Theo said with a smile. “Crookshanks, too. They’re at your house. Quite the place, I might add.”

Draco smiled slightly. Oh how he’d missed his miniscura. Henri raised an eyebrow. “It’s a draconus miniscura,” Hermione explained.

“You’ve got a fucking dragon, bro? Like a real fucking dragon?” Adam mused.

Draco let out a clipped bark of a laugh and nodded. “He’s mini.”

“Think lizard with a temper,” Hermione said through a smile and Draco glared at her.

“He is!” she laughed as she retrieved a cool glass of water from his nightstand.

She held the straw to his lips and he took a long, hard pull from it, relishing the way the cool water soothed his sore throat. He peered down at his arm once more and clenched his jaw. And for the first time, Draco felt a tingle of fear run through his veins. Someone had purposely hurt him. He looked up at Hermione, his lips parted and brow scrunched. “Hermione,” he whispered. “You okay?”

She smiled sadly. “I’m okay, Draco. Scared out of my mind and weak with worry. But fine. I’m just happy you’re okay, that you finally woke up. I thought…”

Hermione’s voice broke and Draco forced his hand up to wipe her tear with his knuckles. “Maybe we should give ‘em uh moment?” Henri voiced and he grabbed Adam’s arm to nudge him away.

“Why don’t we go down and see what kind of shit the cafeteria is trying to pass off as food today?” Adam replied, looking at Theo and Ginny as he spoke.

“Come on, Teddy Bear,” Ginny whispered, looping her arm through Nott’s and forcefully dragging him toward the door.

Draco raised his head at her term of endearment, glaring at their backs. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he croaked—his first full sentence.

Ginny laughed wickedly and Theo looked down at the redhead, completely entranced as they exited after Adam and Henri. Hermione stood and closed the door before she came back and sat on the edge of the bed. “Draco,” she breathed.

She leaned over him and wrapped her arms under him and around his neck in a tight embrace. Her hair, not the least bit tamed now and even shorter as it flew about in kinked curls, nearly smothered him as she buried her face in his neck. He weakly wrapped his arms around her and smiled into her hair before he brought one hand up and stroked the mass away from his nostrils. “Duckie,” he said with a small smile.

“You complete arse!” she admonished into the skin of his neck and he felt warm tears splash down onto him.

“I’m an arse?” he asked with a short breath that was not quite a laugh. “I almost died.”

“You almost died and left me alone. How dare you?” she questioned, her voice teasing but Draco could hear the fright and relief that laced her tone.

“I’ll never leave you, duck,” he replied, his voice becoming stronger with each word as he pushed through the burning in his throat.

Hermione finally raised her face. “The Healers have run every test imaginable. They can’t detect even a trace of Dark magic. Kingsley says he personally observed the arm of every incarcerated Death Eater and none of their Marks have changed.”

“So…how?” Draco asked, wiping her tears with his fingers.

She shrugged and a sob caught in her throat. “I don’t know. I don’t know! I feel so helpless! You almost died. If you had lost even an ounce more blood, I’d be looking at caskets with Henri.”

“I’m here,” Draco tried to reassure her, swallowing the agonizingly crippling fear that was gripping him.

“How did you not know about Henri?” Hermione asked. “He radiates powerful magic.”

Draco shrugged. “I’ve felt that thrum…of magic…everywhere I’ve gone since I got here,” he replied, winded and breathing heavily in his exhausted state.

“I don’t know much about Voodoo,” Hermione admitted, gnawing at her bottom lip once more.

Draco knew she was planning a trip to the local libraries—both Muggle and Magical. “Henri didn’t…”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I don’t get an evil, Dark vibe from him. He was genuinely panicked when he came here Wednesday. He seems to already have taken a liking to you.”

Draco nodded. “A good man who’s lived a hard life. Different than us, but…difficult.”

Draco wished sleep would come once more. His body ached all over and he felt as though each limb weighed a hundred more pounds than it normally did. “Love you,” he whispered to her and Hermione smiled down at him once more.

“I love you, too.”

A thought struck Draco suddenly and his heart began to beat wildly. “Was someone in the house?”

He couldn’t bare the thought that someone had entered their home. The danger she had been placed into because of him. Weasley’s words from the month prior rang through his brain. You are a Dark wizard, trained in the Dark Arts. There will come a day when your Darkness will hurt her, whether by your hand or another’s. And when that day comes, I will kill you myself.

Here it was, the day Weasley’s words were to ring true. She had been put in harm’s way because of him. Hermione shook her head as she touched his cheek gingerly, his four-day growth of light blond facial hair tickling under her fingertips. “No. No one crossed through the wards. We placed damn good wards around the property, Draco—I had a hell of a time getting Theo and Ginny through. There’s no way someone could have got in.”

Draco rested his head once more and looked up at the ceiling as Hermione took his hand in hers again. He was positively trembling and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the fear, icy in his veins, or an aftershock of the curse placed on him. So no one had entered their home? How had this happened to him, then?

There was a soft knock at the door and an elderly balding Healer walked in, flanked by Kingsley Shacklebolt and the President of MACUSA, a severe-looking woman named Meredith Gold. “Mr. Malfoy! How are you feeling?” the Healer asked, a quick quotes quill scribbling away as the Healer ran his wand in Draco’s direction and whispered Draco’s vitals to it.

“Like I got run over by a hippogriff.”

Shacklebolt let out a small laugh. “Mr. Malfoy. I thought you were going to be out of my hair for the next year?”

Draco winced but the Minister didn’t notice as he clapped a hand lightly on Draco’s knee. Hermione made to leave the bedside but Draco held her in place. “Stay,” he whispered and she sat on the edge of the bed once more, uncertain.

“I’d hoped that as well, Minister,” Draco remarked bitterly.

“Can you tell us what you remember, Mr. Malfoy?” President Gold asked, speaking for the first time.

She was strict-looking, much like McGonagall, with a short crop of grey hair. Her lips were entirely too thin to sport the shade of red lipstick she wore and her eyes were beady and resembled that of a hawk’s. Her voice was nasally and Draco absently wondered if she could breath whilst speaking.

“I remember having a bath before bed on Tuesday…and then…” his voice was so weak, his energy quickly dissipating.

“It’s okay, take your time,” the President said.

The Healer stepped into him and handed him a glass vial. “Drink,” he ordered and Draco noticed the color and consistency denoted a pepper-up potion.

“Hermione…CCD,” Draco croaked.

She raised an eyebrow and rose, crossing the room to her beaded bag. Kingsley turned to the American woman. “These two single handedly created the Cruciatus Calming Draught—a potion that will effectively diminish the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse,” Kingsley told her, looking proud of the two.

The President raised her eyebrows. “Really? That’s impressive—especially for people as young as the two of you! I’d like to know more about this, after you’re well, of course.”

“It’s in a trial period right now at St. Mungo’s and a few other hospitals. But it works, it really does,” Hermione said, uncorking the vial of CCD with her teeth.

Draco tried to lean up and she placed a hand gently under his neck to assist, tipping the vial to his lips. His eyes twitched from the sour taste. “Lemon drops and grasshopper legs,” he said, shuddering and the others laughed.

He promptly swallowed the pepper-up as a chaser and lay back in his pillows. He could feel the warmth of the CCD spread through him and his trembling limbs stilled some. “I don’t remember anything after the bath. I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Malfoy, we’ve never seen a curse of this kind before. We’ve got teams of Aurors, both here and in the UK searching for a cause. But we are drawing a blank,” the President told him.

Draco nodded once to acknowledge that he’d heard her as he closed his eyes. He could practically hear Hermione worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “So what do we do?” she asked, her tone seeped in anxious worry.

The room was silent as everyone looked at each other and shrugged. “If we can’t pinpoint a reasoning and means behind this, we can’t retaliate properly. Mr. Malfoy, do you have any known enemies here in the states?” the President asked.

He furrowed his brow, a deep-seated irritation and anger settling over him. “No. I’ve been here a month!”

“Anyone who could have followed you here from England? Someone with a grudge?” she asked, her eyes peering over his Dark Mark.

He held his arm upright. If she wanted a good glimpse of it, he’d give it to her. “Never seen the Dark Lord’s sign in the flesh, Madam President? Shall I have a picture framed for you, to remember this moment by?” he spat and Hermione’s eyes grew wide.

“Draco!” she shrieked.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow, an amused smile playing at his lips. The Healer cleared his throat and pocketed his wand. “I’ll be going on that note,” he said and he made a quick exit.

Draco gave the President a look that would have caught her hair on fire if he’d had enough energy to perform wandless magic. The burning rage and hatred, which had remained dormant in his heart in the months since he’d begun courting Hermione, welled up in him. He tasted the bitter bile and animosity at the back of his throat.

“No one followed me here. I’m a fallen Death Eater. Reformed enough to keep the Light happy and I was always a shit Death Eater, so I doubt any of them would be remotely interested in looking for me.”

“What about your father?” she pried, pursing her lips.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Kingsley beat him to it. “Lucius Malfoy is sitting in a cell in Azkaban. I looked at his arm myself.”

The President, who had been leaning forward to speak at Draco, now straightened and squared her shoulders. “Yes, well. Someone wanted to harm him.”

“I honestly have no idea who,” he voiced, frustration and loathing for the woman coloring his tone.

Kingsley sighed. “We’ll get down to the bottom of this, Mr. Malfoy. In the meantime, rest. The Healer said you could go home tomorrow for supervised bed rest if you remained alert.”

With that, the two Heads of their respective countries left, she whispering forcefully to her British counterpart. Hermione looked down at Draco and brought her lips down to kiss each cheek and his eyelids. “Sleep,” she whispered, and her voice and scent served as the balm needed to quell his gnashing and edgy mood.

o-o-o

“Dammit, Nott. Hold me up,” Draco spat moodily as Theo attempted to prop him up so he could prick his finger and cross the blood wards encasing their home.

He’d just been released from St. Julian’s and he was in a ridiculously foul mood. Hermione and Ginny were behind the pair and Hermione was frowning deeply. It had been months since Draco had been so biting, so crude, so unrelentingly angry. He could be tender with her, calling her ‘duckie’ and kissing the tip of her nose. But then he could be tossing his eating utensils at the wall and growling in frustration. This was the Draco from a year ago. He’d been fiery and passionate for so long that she had forgotten the underlying ice that ran through his veins, crept into his soul.

Theo helped him up the porch stairs, but before they could reach the top, Draco threw an arm across everyone, blocking them all from taking another step further. Hermione craned her neck to gaze over his shoulder. There, set upon their ‘welcome’ mat, was a perfectly baked peach pie with a note set atop. Draco flicked his wand and the paper flew up and hovered in front of his face. Even from her place on the stairs three down from him, Hermione could read what the note said:

Darkness never fades. Now everyone will be able to spot you from a mile away.

You can try to hide your Mark, like the cowardly blood-traitor you are.

When you are ready to return to your ancestral roots, we’ll be here waiting.

We need a strong ruler to lead us to greatness, one who served under a Dark Master.

Who better than the Heir to the most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy?

Draco’s mouth parted slightly and the blood pounded behind his ears as his heartbeat drowned out all other sounds. He collapsed to his knees and vaguely heard the others yelling his name, their voices sounding as though they were under water. Someone didn’t want to kill him—they wanted to recruit him. The injury to his Mark wasn’t a failed murder attempt. It was a dangerous warning to accept the invitation.

Natalie LeRoux was trying to force Draco to lead a new group of Death Eaters in the United States.

o-o-o


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****A/N: I had changed Henri’s accent. But I’m going back to Cajun. Honestly, it’s just him. I can’t envision him speaking any other way. A lot of people have said that. In the end I gotta be true to my story, to authenticate it and make it feel more like I’m trying to portray. I’m sorry if its off putting, if you have difficulty reading it (might I suggest listening to Cajun accents on youtube to help navigate?), or if it makes my story only 4 out of 5 stars. I’m okay with this. But, his accent is what makes Henri, Henri. 
> 
> Even his name, On-ree. I can’t say it any other way.
> 
> It is what it is, my friends. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

“Call Henri, Hermione,” Draco said, still blocking everyone from going any further up the porch stairs, their voices muffled as they rushed around him.

“What’s going on, Malfoy?” Ginny questioned, gripping her wand, looking from the blond to Hermione.

He looked over his shoulder to where Hermione was still staring at the letter hovering before them. “Granger, get Henri, now,” he repeated.

Theo had his wand at the ready and was already using Homenum Revelio to scour the property. The words written on that letter were enough to set him on edge. The one who penned the letter had specifically chosen the phrase blood traitor. This was no Muggle issue. Draco had his wand drawn and was pulling himself up on the porch banister, his body too weak to walk on his own. The hair on his arms and neck was standing on end and fear tingled through his veins.

Ginny went around the opposite side of the house to make sure no one was hiding. Hermione was looking every which way, trying to catch a glimpse of movement. Henri answered the phone call and Hermione simply shrieked, “329 Mulberry Lane. Get here now, it’s an emergency!” before pocketing the device.

She refused to leave Draco’s side, guarding him in his weakened state. She eyed the pie, still sitting on the doorstep. The letter was hanging in front of them, everyone refusing to touch it for fear of what Dark magic it might be imbued with. How had someone gotten past their wards? They had created the wards to only allow access to themselves and, should they have guests they had to spill their own blood willingly to get the guests through. Both she and Draco had done the spell work and she knew they were more than capable of creating strong wards. So how had Natalie gotten through?

She heard the loud crack of Apparation and Henri appeared on the other side of the ward, Adam side-along Apparating with him. She rushed to where she could see the magic shimmering and quickly pricked her finger to let them through.

“This had better be good, Pony. We just sat down with wings to watch the Sinners’ kickoff,” Adam was saying, clearly irritated.

Henri threw an arm across his chest and the Squib stopped talking. Henri lifted his head, as though he were listening intently to something. Theo and Ginny returned to where they were gathering. “There’s no one within the wards, no one in the surrounding woods and no one inside, that we could find,” Theo stated, still skimming the tree lines expectantly.

Adam skirted around Theo and went to where Draco was barely standing upright and Hermione was struggling under his body weight. He took Draco’s arm from her and draped it over his own shoulders. “Let’s get him inside. You’re positive there’s no threat?” he asked Theo.

Theo glared at him and levitated the pie away from the door. “I know how to do a clean sweep of a perimeter, Squib.”

“Adam,” the mortician replied, agitation apparent in his voice at being reminded yet again that he was the only one there without magical capabilities.

“Hermynee, you stay out heuh with me,” Henri called.

Hermione raised an eyebrow but listened to the command. “You go inside, bring Eugene to Draco. It might help calm him down,” she told Ginny.

Theo remained with Hermione and stood a pace in front of her, partially blocking her from Henri. The man looked at the pair, his face still raised, taking deep breaths of the air. “Natalie LeRoux been heuh.”

“We gathered that from the pie,” Hermione stated, pointing at the dessert. “Read the letter that was attached.”

Henri held out his hand and it flew toward them in the front yard. He looked at it closely, reading it over three times. “Shit, cher. Shit.”

“What?” Hermione questioned insistently.

“Draygo in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” she screeched, her voice a pitch only dogs could possibly decipher.

“Le’s go inside. We need tuh talk,” he said, pointing at the door, but eyeing around them.

“I’m sorry. Who’s Natalie LeRoux?” Theo asked. “And how did you know she was here before being told?”

“Inside,” Henri commanded and Hermione and Theo led the way as Henri pulled a crystal from his pocket and placed it on the porch, making the sign of the cross over his chest and kissing a trinket strung around his neck before entering the home.

Theo shot Hermione a look and she shrugged. Inside, Adam was situating Draco on the couch. Ginny was coming down the stairs with Eugene and a blanket. Draco was sullen and look on the brink of committing homicide as Hermione spread the blanket over his lap. She gingerly set Eugene on Draco’s shoulder, much to Adam’s fascination. The dragon nuzzled his master and Draco leaned into it.

“Henri. Didn’t you think it might be important, when you were dropping the bombshell on me that you were magical, to mention that Natalie was as well?” the blond asked, fighting to keep his tone even as the anger began to set it.

Henri walked around the front of him and sat on the edge of the coffee table. Theo and Ginny were on opposite sides of the room, watching out of the windows. “Draygo. Dere’s a lot goin’ on heuh in New Orl’ns dan meet de eye,” he began.

Theo scoffed. “Clearly.”

“I didn’ mention LeRoux ‘cause I didn’ t’ink it relevan’ at de time.”

“How about now?” Draco asked, gesturing to his arm and the porch, where the poisoned pie still sat.

“Please calm down,” Adam said, leaning forward.

Theo was getting ready to speak but clamped his mouth shut as Hermione threw a look in his direction. Draco felt a surge of brotherhood toward his oldest friend. “Go on, Henri,” Hermione urged.

“I…I don’ even know wheuh to begin…shit,” the Creole scrubbed a hand down his face. “Natalie LeRoux’s mama was a Corey.”

“Corey?” Draco asked, scanning every name he could mentally think of.

He didn’t recognize that as being a prominent name anywhere in the wizarding world. “As in Giles Corey. Of Salem Witch Trials fame,” Adam supplied.

Draco wished he’d listened to that lesson Hermione gave on persecution of witches and wizards back at Hogwarts. “I’m not following.”

“In 1692, Puritans in Salem wen’ on uh witch hunt. Some uh de people dey killed were No-Maj. But a few, dey got righ’. Giles Corey bein’ one uh dem. He was sentenced to die by pressin’. But he escaped. Fed a guard some Polyjuice an’ dey pressed dat poor boy, not Corey. He ran…all de way heuh to New Orl’ns. His bloodline remained pure all de way down to Natalie,” Henri explained.

“What about the LeRoux’s?” Draco asked.

“Dey French. Settled heuh in 1682 when de French colonized de South. Dey pureblooded fuh t’ousands uh yeuhs.”

“I thought we left this pureblood shit in Britain,” Draco frowned. “I just want to live a normal life.”

Henri gave him a sympathetic look. Theo turned from the window, his arms crossed. “Okay, well this Natalie LeRoux is obviously bat shit. I don’t understand why she would insult Draco and then turn around and compliment him.”

“I didn’ see uh complimen’ on dat piece uh papuh,” he retorted.

“Sure there was! ‘We need a strong ruler to lead us to greatness’?”

Henri shook his head. “Da’s no complimen’. Da’s a warnin’. Dey t’ink he weak and dey warnin’ him tuh shape up.”

“You keep saying ‘they’. Who are ‘they’? Natalie and Nathaniel?” Hermione asked, fussing over Draco, who promptly swatted her away.

Henri looked up at her and then back to Draco. He began bouncing his leg nervously and he ran his palms over his jeans to wipe the sweat off. “I suspec’ dey workin’ on behalf uh Solomon’s Coterie.”

“Solomon’s what?” Ginny asked incredulously.

“Coterie. King Solomon was a wise man written about in the Bible, his knowledge and Sight surpassing all others. But there’s folk legends that say he was granted magical capabilities by God himself. Solomon’s Coterie is a group of Purebloods here in the states. As you well know, Purebloods believe that their blood and magic are pure because it comes straight from one individual and is passed down, unmarred through the line. They believe Solomon is the one individual from whence all modern magical families’ capabilities come,” Adam told them.

“That would mean that every Pureblood family for the last three thousand years are all related to one another,” Hermione said, shaking her head.

“That’s impossible,” Draco said, trying to picture the Malfoy family tapestry in his mind—it only went back one thousand years.

“How else do you t’ink she got past the blood wards?” Henri asked, raising his eyebrows. “Malfoy sound awf’lly French. You and she related some how.”

“Fuck. When I was casting the wards, I specified Malfoy and Granger bloodlines. Not specifically myself, Hermione and our parents. So anyone with an ounce of shared blood can cross,” Draco said, covering his face and putting his head back before letting out a frustrated groan.

“That can’t be. Why can’t Theo cross through? Or Ginny? Both the Notts and Weasleys are part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.”

“I suspect y’alls record-keepin’ only go back a t’ousand yeuhs? Maybe fifteen hundert?”

Draco lifted his head and looked at the man. His eyes flickered over Henri’s shoulder to Theo, who shrugged. “Our line supposedly started with Wilhelm Teodore Notte in the year 876.”

Henri nodded and Adam pursed his lips. Draco shook his head. “Shit. We need to go to MACUSA. They need to get a team of Aurors on this.”

Henri shook his head vigorously. “De LeRoux’s are tuh New Orl’ns what de Malfoys were to de Ministry. Dey got all dem MACUSA agents wrapped aroun’ dere finguhs. We need mo’ proof befuh we call dem.”

“Proof of what? The Healers weren’t able to find a reason for Draco’s injuries,” Hermione said, frowning deeply.

“Dey wasn’ t’inkin’ t’ree dimensionally,” Henri commented, leaning back on the coffee table and cracking his back.

“What are you talking about?” Theo asked, leaving his post at the window.

“Now dat I know dis LeRoux’s doin’, I suspect she usin’ some ol’ school Dark magic,” Henri speculated. “I suspect she made a poppet uh you.”

“A poppet?” Ginny asked, wrinkling her brow.

“A voodoo doll,” Theo spat.

Henri shot him a death glare. “Dey similar. But a poppet come all de way heuh from merry ol’ Englan’ wit’ dem Puritans.”

“I thought these dolls were used to practice sympathetic magic? Healing, love spells, things of that nature?” Hermione asked.

“Dey can be. But wit’ every Light, dere’s a lil Dark.”

“So, Natalie used a voodoo doll to harm me?” Draco groaned once more, leaning forward and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Eugene let out a puff of smoke indignantly at Draco’s rapid movements and hopped down to examine Adam, who held one finger out to him. “Uh poppet,” Henri corrected vehemently.

“Don’t you need a piece of someone to make one? A hair or something?” Hermione asked, rubbing her hand over Draco’s back in an attempt to relax him.

Henri shook his head. “No. I suspect she bettuh dan mos’. Powerful. She evuh touch you, Draygo?”

Hermione looked over at Draco, who furrowed his brow. They had only been friendly one whole day of school. Then realization dawned on him. “Fuck.”

“Care to share with the class, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, one eyebrow quirked.

“I was sitting in the courtyard at school one day and I had my sleeves up. She ran her finger over the scars and made a comment about my odd tattoo and how it looked almost burned into me,” Draco lamented.

Henri nodded and Theo was standing behind him, a look of bewildered disgust on his face. “So what?”

“A transfer of magic. She literally pulled your magic out of you without you knowin’,” Adam replied.

“How do you know this?” Theo asked Adam, his face stony and set.

“I’m not a No-Maj. I’m a Squib. I grew up hearing these legends and I’ve been friends with Henri since we were five. I picked up a thing or two, asshole,” Adam snapped.

“Why me?” Draco asked. “I’m sure there’s other Purebloods right here in the states.”

“You trained unduh de Darkes’ wizard of our time, Draygo. You skilled in ways she only hope tuh be. An’…you work fuh us. De LeVeau’s—my modduhs family—and de LeRoux’s like de Hatfields and McCoys. Oil and watuh. Pureblood versus the epitome of Mudblood…we bayou folk—we self taught by oral tradition and folk work.”

Theo pursed his lips and stayed silent as he eyed the two undertakers. Ginny was bringing some lemonade and glasses from the kitchen, Molly’s influence on her finally kicking in. Hermione was mentally trying to recall any and all information she’d ever read about secret American Pureblood societies and poppets and the Salem Witch Trials. Draco was wishing his mother were there.

“I need my mother. And the tapestry,” Draco stated, removing the blanket from his lap.

Theo put a hand out and helped pull Draco into a standing position. “She’s on house arrest, mate.”

“Yes…and I’m in no condition to travel,” the blond wizard replied, biting the inside of his cheek twice.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked him.

“To bed,” Draco replied grumpily, his mood worse than she’d seen in ages.

Hermione sighed as Theo escorted him up the stairs. Adam sneered at the large man’s retreating back. “What is his deal?”

“He’s very protective of Draco…there is a long history there. But they’ve been friends for the entirety of their lives. More like brothers,” Ginny responded in a crisp tone.

“So, what are we going to do?” Hermione asked, raising her voice to speak over the others.

“We need tuh fin’ dat doll,” Henri told her. “An’ quick.”

“How did she make his Mark rip open?” Ginny asked.

“I t’ink de doll made uh wax, maybe. She probably carved intuh it wit uh quill and ink.”

“How in the bloody hell are we going to find it? It could be anywhere! At her house, in her car, at the funeral home…” Hermione’s voice was bordering on panic.

“We need to infiltrate the enemy’s lair, from the inside,” Adam said, eyeing Ginny as the sound of Draco yelling and smashing a glass filtered down the staircase.

o-o-o

Draco stood in the middle of his room, the magic coursing through him literally pulsing angrily through every inch of him. “I come here,” he bellowed, grabbing a picture frame and chucking it at the nearest wall, “to find peace,” he tossed three glass candle jars at the floor, “to love my witch.” Draco punched his fist into the bed before him. “Fuck.”

Theo came up behind him and grabbed his arms. “Come on, mate. Calm down some.”

“How am I supposed to calm down, Nott? I travelled forty-five hundred miles to get away from the Pureblood bullshit. And here I end up in the middle of a goddamn three hundred year old feud between two families over blood. They want me to be the next Dark Lord, Nott!” Draco exclaimed.

And then he did something that surprised Theo—he began laughing hysterically. Theo recoiled slightly, worried over his friend’s strange behavior. “This shit is ridiculous,” Draco said through his bitter laughs.

Theo was staring at him uncertainly. “Maybe you should lie down, Malfoy.”

He waved his wand and cleaned up the remnants of Draco’s tantrum. Ginny had come past while Draco was in the hospital and scourgified and cleaned every bit of blood from their bedroom floor. She’d straightened up and made the bed. Theo pulled back the covers as Draco’s hysterical laughing turned into anguished sobs. Theo pulled him into a brotherly hug. “We’ll figure this out. You’re creepy friends seem to have an idea about this particular breed of Dark magic.”

Draco laughed at the description of his new friends through broken tears and collapsed back onto the bed, exhausted and weak. How the fuck were they going to fix this?

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I have a confession, guys. This whole Dark Mark thing was supposed to be the last chapter of this story—obviously set farther in the future after we experienced his whole ‘being a mortician and marrying Hermione’ life. This was supposed to kill him. There was going to be an epilogue—his funeral. But I still haven’t emotionally recovered from killing Draco off in Love and Death. So he got a reprieve.
> 
> But, I have to say I enjoy this weird turn the story took. Keeps it interesting. And yes, there will be more fluff and more mortuary stuff to come.
> 
> Please review!


	17. Chapter 17

Hermione stood outside of their home with Kingsley Shacklebolt a short while later. She’d sent a corporeal patronus to him requesting he come alone and he had. “Why was it so imperative I come here alone, Miss Granger?”

“We know who attacked Draco—it was a girl here in town. She may be associated with a Pureblood elitist group called Solomon’s Coterie. And we have reason to believe she’s created a poppet to carry out the attacks,” Hermione said, everything coming out in a rush.

Shacklebolt looked taken aback. “And you gathered this information from…?”

“Draco’s new coworkers are a wizard and Squib. They know the girl who did this. Natalie LeRoux.”

“And why would this LeRoux want to harm Draco? How does she know Draco?” the Minister asked.

“Her family owns the opposing funeral home,” she walked him to where the letter was still hanging mid–air. “We wouldn’t touch it. She’s obviously a Dark witch, trained both classically and possibly in local voodoo traditions.”

Shacklebolt read over the letter multiple times. “I’ll call President Gold.”

“No!” Hermione said promptly and he raised his eyebrows. “The LeRoux family has some kind of control over MACUSA. According to the guys, the government here is crooked and easily swayed by money.”

“So what do you suggest we do? I’m a little far from my jurisdiction without involving the Americans,” the Minister was incredulous as he ran a diagnostic wand over the letter, searching out Dark magic.

“We need Narcissa Malfoy,” Hermione replied.

He looked at her for a long moment, confusion prominent in his fleeting emotions, his wand in mid-swipe. “Narcissa Malfoy?”

“There’s more…these Coterie people believe that all Purebloods are descended from one person…she was able to cross blood wards.”

“She is on house arrest for another four years, Hermione. You know I can’t just excuse that,” he argued, deeming the letter safe and snatching it out of the air.

“Minister Shacklebolt. Please. Make an exception…for a little while at least. Draco almost died. He needs to see his mother and she may be able to shed more light on this,” Hermione pleaded, “I’ll be personally responsible for her. She’s nothing like Lucius, Minister. She won’t cause problems, especially if you extend her this courtesy.”

The Minister regarded her, clearly thinking. “If she does something wrong, I’m holding you equally responsible. If she goes to prison, so shall you, as an accomplice.”

Hermione nodded vigorously. “I understand.”

“The press is going to have a field day. ‘The Minister Pardons a War Criminal!’ I can see it now,” he said, waving a hand as though picturing the headline.

“They don’t need to know. She’s been laying low since going on house arrest anyway,” she reasoned.

“And what are we going to do about Mister Malfoy? He needs Aurors keeping watch,” he asked.

Hermione looked at him meaningfully. He shook his head. “No way. Harry still has three months.”

“We both know Harry has personally defeated far worse than Natalie LeRoux. He knows us, he knows what we’ve been through and he can sympathize. I don’t trust any American officials right now,” she said.

“What if this little bayou boy and his weird friend are the ones harming Draco? And they’re trying to create a diversion and sic you onto Natalie LeRoux? To settle a funeral home to funeral home dispute, placing Draco in the middle?” he asked, skeptical of the whole situation.

She shook her head. “They seem genuine. We have no reason to believe otherwise…plus, I’ve met Natalie—she’s definitely crazy.”

“And how long am I supposed to allow a convicted war criminal and my best Auror trainee stay here?” he asked, clearly irritated that Hermione was swaying his convictions.

“Harry as long as necessary. Narcissa…well…I wanted to talk to Draco about that,” Hermione was wringing her hands. “I was thinking about getting married here instead of back in Wiltshire. I’ll need her assistance with some of the…traditions.”

“Married?” he looked at the large diamond ring on her left hand. “Oh sweet Merlin.”

Hermione bit her lip and stared at the Minister. He was shifting uneasily on his feet. “Fine. Narcissa until January first. But then she returns to the Manor to serve the rest of her sentence. Harry until you can obtain enough irrefutable proof to involve MACUSA. I’ll try and find another Auror to assist him.”

“That’s not necessary. Ginny and Theo are staying.”

“Neither is trained as extensively as my members, Hermione.”

“No. But Ginny trained with the DA and she’s fierce—she fought in the Final Battle. Theo was raised in the Dark Arts, just as Draco was, and they both have extensive knowledge. And Henri is trained in Old World style voodoo. All of us together can do this,” Hermione reasoned.

“I should yank you all back to London. This is dangerous,” he sighed.

“We’re staying. Draco has fought too hard to get to this point to give up now.”

Shacklebolt shook his head. “Dammit. All right. I’ll be back with Narcissa and Harry in the morning. I’ve got to start the extensive paperwork.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you.”

“If Narcissa puts one toe out of line, you’d better hold out your foot, too,” he warned and then he Disapparated with a crack.

Hermione went inside and sat on the couch beside Theo. Henri and Ginny were in the kitchen, Henri starting a healing salve over the stove to spread across Draco’s Mark. Adam was upstairs, trying to help Draco undress to get him into something comfortable. Theo draped an arm around her shoulders and she cuddled into his side. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her friends until they were here with them. “Malfoy’s in some deep shit,” he commented.

Hermione sighed. “Always.”

“When’s the wedding?” Theo asked, raising her hand up to inspect the ring with a whistle.

“We hadn’t discussed it yet, honestly. But I convinced Shacklebolt to allow his mother to travel here until January first. Please don’t tell him yet…And Harry is coming,” she replied.

She wanted to keep Narcissa’s arrival a secret, a surprise for him. She knew he missed her, and his fear and apprehension made him crave his mother’s presence even more. Draco tried to hide his true feelings from everyone, but he didn’t fool her.

“Potter? Well, shit. I’d better warn Red…I don’t think she’d anticipated having to break the news that she’d gone and gotten herself a big old Teddy bear quite so soon.”

“I appreciate you taking time from law school, Theo. I know this will set you back months. And Ginny…she starts training with the Holies in a few months…she should be home running drills and keeping up with her rigorous training schedule.”

Theo shrugged. “I couldn’t sit at home while my best mate was here suffering. He’s the only brother I’ve ever known.”

Adam walked down the stairs at that point, his hands thrust into his pockets. “He’s fighting a fever again.”

“I’ll go into wizarding town. I’m sure they’ve got an apothecary there,” Theo said with an air of finality.

Adam shook his head, ignoring Theo’s tone. “Henri’s got better folk remedies than anything you’ll find in town.”

“Yes, but he needs something quickly,” Theo challenged, sitting forward and pushing Hermione up.

Adam regarded him, an angry and discontented look on his face. “I don’t know what the hell your problem with me is, but it needs to cease.”

“My problem is that you and Mr. Bayou Boogaloo in there act like you’re so concerned over his well being. What do you even know about Draco Malfoy?” Theo asked as he stood.

Hermione put her hand on his arm. “Theo!”

Adam crossed his arms and gave Theo a murderous look. “We may not have fought a War alongside him. We may not understand what he has been through. But he is one of us. When he starts working, he will see more of us than he will of his wife. We are a family at the funeral home. And we’ll protect our own.”

“Sounds like some kind of creepy cult,” Theo scoffed.

Adam rolled his eyes. “We’re not a cult. And we’re not creepy. I can’t expect you to understand. We see things every day, horrid and depraved things. And yes, I know he’s probably done horrid and depraved things. But…we’re the only people we can turn to when something bad happens at work…when we get the burned body of a child who died in a house fire, or the murder-suicide of an elderly couple when one of them gets dementia and the other can’t bear it. We need others we can turn to. So that is why we are intent on giving him a support system. Especially since he’s so far from home and his family and friends.”

Theo was silent during Adam’s rant, watching him icily. “I don’t know why he even thinks he can handle this. All of the bodies…it’s just going to put him right back into PTSD induced episodes,” he spat, shaking his head at his friend’s naivety.

Adam shrugged. “Maybe. Or perhaps seeing the bodies of people who lived a full life and achieved a ripe old age with soothe his mind. All he’s seen was carnage. There’s plenty of that, but there’s dignified, honorable, and natural deaths, too.”

Hermione looked between the two men, wondering at the need they both apparently felt to be the Alpha friend in Draco’s life. Adam pursed his lips. “Are you finished with the bullshit now? Can we agree to keep Pony in our best interest, since we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the upcoming weeks? As intriguing as it is to banter back and forth unpleasantly, I was up until four in the morning preparing dead bodies. I’m too tired for your attitude on top of trying to figure out how the hell we’re going to keep him from getting hurt any further.”

Theo’s jaw was clenched tightly when he conceded. “Let’s go see what your friend has managed to mix up, then.”

Hermione let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and made her way up the stairs to their bedroom. Draco was in bed, the covers up over his chest. His skin was burning bright red with fever and his features were sullen and stony. She crossed to the bathroom and wet a washcloth with cool water, filling a shallow bowl to bring with her. Draco was watching her every move, his head the only thing moving in his febrile state. She sat on the edge of the bed and the heat rolling off of him was startling. The Healers at St. Julian’s had warned that his fever could come back, but because they didn’t know what it was they were fighting, they couldn’t do much for him.

He lifted his hand and put it on her thigh and she could feel the heat radiating from his hand through her jeans. “You’re on fire!”

He made a weak groan at the back of his throat. “I feel like it.”

She put the cloth over his forehead and ran her fingertips over his jaw. “Henri says he has some remedies that can help you…some protective magic that can counter anything Natalie does with the poppet.”

“I’m sorry, duck. I thought when we came here, we’d live a happy life,” he said remorsefully, closing his eyes.

“This isn’t your fault. We’re going to work through this…Adam has a plan for Ginny to go undercover.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Why would she do that for me? Weasley hates me.”

“She doesn’t! She…tolerates you because she loves me and cares deeply for Theo. I think you’re growing on her.”

He made a noise of disbelief as he lifted his hand to her face to trace her lip, untucking it from between her teeth. “I just want to love you. Properly.”

Hermione smiled at him sadly. “Harry’s going to come and help keep an eye out. Shacklebolt agreed to it,” she mentioned casually.

Draco let out a guttural groan. “Just what I need. Potter.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled the cloth from his forehead, dipping it into a dish of water on the nightstand. She pulled the covers back and lifted his shirt to expose his chest, glistening with sweat though he shivered. She ran the cool cloth over him and he leaned his head back into the fluffy pillow further, a soft purr of appreciation at the back of his throat.

There was a soft knock on the open door and Henri cleared his throat. “Po’, we got you uh good lil calendula salve heuh. I t’ink it’ll help close up dem woun’s. Dat should help kill de fevuh. I’ll have some healin’ potions ready in de mornin’ fuh you. Calypso is mighty fine at healin’ magic.”

He crossed the room and gave Hermione a tub of thick yellow potion. “Apply dis as of’en as needed. Keep de woun’ breathin’. When it stop shinin’, put mo’ salve on. I’m gonna head home…I got some t’ings I’m bringin’ tuh you tuhmorrow. How you feel about an alligatuh skull on de porch?”

Draco furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. “I don’t want a damn animal carcass on my doorstep, Henri.”

Henri waved him off. “De protection dey offuh outweigh de look, mon copain. I’ll bring two. One fuh de front and one fuh de back.”

“Thank you, Henri. For everything,” Hermione said, grabbing the man’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“‘Course, my dearest Hermynee. Take care uh him.”

Hermione nodded and Henri let himself out as she turned her attention back to Draco. She gingerly unwrapped his arm and said a disinfecting charm before taking a glob of it into her fingertips. His wound was open and raw, drops of both dried blood and black ink smearing off onto his surrounding skin. “Don’t think I forgot your birthday, either, duckie. Your gift is in the closet behind the blue suit to the left,” he said, watching her spread the thick, sweet smelling cream across his arm.

He winced at the pain and she eased up her touch, trying to make contact as little as possible. “You already bought us a house and cars, an animal refuge and a ring that is bigger than my head. What more could you possibly have bought me?” she asked, incredulous.

“Well, when compared to all that, it’s positively pitiful,” he laughed lightly, his head clearly swimming in a way that made him close his eyes tightly.

Hermione watched as the potion began to work on his skin, the open wounds slowly drawing closer together and knitting closed. He gestured to the closet. “Go get it,” he said.

She crossed the room and moved the blue suit on the left to reveal a neatly wrapped package stuck to the wall with a sticking charm. She unpeeled it from the wall and carried it back to where he sat. Hermione turned the package over and inspected it. The weight was right for a book and it was wrapped in plain silver paper with a green ribbon. “What is it?”

“Granger. Unwrap the damn gift,” he teased quietly, the last of his energy draining quickly.

Hermione tore the paper delicately and pulled out a black leather journal, well worn and stuffed with random bits of parchment in addition to the ones bound together. The journal Healer Little had given them way back in therapy. She held it up and gave him a confused and questioning look. He closed his eyes and took her hand, attempting to give it a squeeze. “The story of how you saved me. My favorite tale of all time.”

Hermione opened the journal and could see his neat script covering every square inch of available space. There were little doodles on some pages and random items pressed between. She ran her fingers over the worn edges of parchment. Toward the beginning, she could see where tears had fallen and blurred the words, swelling the parchment in small circles. She ran her fingers over these, the remnants of tears shed in the darkest time of his life.

Hermione was speechless, a hard lump in her throat as she looked at the journal. He peeked at her from one barely open eye. “You okay?”

She could do nothing more than nod. Her stoic, private man was going to let her into his mind more fully than she could have ever hoped. As close as they were, she knew this was his way of giving himself to her fully as he moved from her boyfriend into her betrothed.

Her emotions threatened to overcome her and she choked back a sob, unwilling to cry fully in front of him as he lay in the bed, his entire body painfully aching and hot. She needed to be strong for him. “Come here, love,” he whispered, lifting his hand to her face. She stowed the journal on his nightstand and climbed into her side of the bed, curling herself into him. His body heat was overbearing so she waved her hand and their balcony doors opened into the evening air, letting in a warm gentle breeze. She pulled his blanket up around him and settled into his chest, her cheek against his heated collarbone and neck. “I love you. Forever.”

“And always,” he whispered.

“Properly,” she confirmed.

“Properly,” he agreed, before slumber finally took him.

o-o-o


	18. Chapter 18

“Draygo,” Henri whispered, effectively waking Draco.

Hermione had let them past the wards and gone to make Draco a cup of tea while Henri and Adam went up to see him. Draco stirred, his eyes fluttering. It was barely daybreak, the sky outside of the balcony doors dark with rosy hues just peeking over the treetops. “What in the bloody hell are you doing in my room so early?” he groaned, putting an arm over his face.

“It’s Monday. We’ve got class to get to. But Calypso stayed up all night to make you some healing potions—you could at least pretend to be grateful,” Adam replied, rolling his eyes.

Draco took a moment to assess his body. The sheets around him were soaked with sweat and every inch of his body ached like death was impending. Even his hair hurt. “Come on, den, Draygo. Le’s get you sittin’ up,” Henri said, and he and Adam assisted him from either side of the bed.

When he was sitting back against the headboard, Henri reached into his school bag and retrieved a slew of items. He pointed to three different vials as Hermione came in with Draco’s tea. “Hermynee, he needs to take dese t’ree now. They’ll refill demselves and he needs to take de pink and green ones again at lunch. Den,” he pulled a fourth, large vial from his bag that appeared to be filled with mud (Draco wondered if it actually was), “befuh he go to bed, he need to drink all dis.”

“What is all of this?” Hermione asked, lifting each vial in turn.

It looked like tadpoles swimming through the pink one and she was positive the muddy one had an entire newt’s eye sunken into the bottom like pirate’s treasure. “Calypso de bes’ Healer I evuh met. I tell her all de time, she in de wrong business. Anyway, dese some uh her own cocktails. He’ll feel bettuh right aftuh de firs’ dose. But he gotta drink dese fuh de next nine days.”

Draco groaned at the thought of trying to choke down mud nine different times. Adam laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, earning another groan—of pain—from him. “They’re not as bad as they look. Just pinch your nose and go. Or, alternatively, place a tasteless charm on your tongue and hope for the best.”

“Man, tas’eless charms fuh spineless wimps. He uh Malfoy,” Henri laughed, retrieving more items from his bag.

He pulled out a chain with what appeared to be a gator tooth hanging from it. Henri showed it to Hermione, considering Draco had his eyes closed, begging for sleep to take him so he didn’t have to listen to them talk about his remedies any more. “Dese sigils uh fuh protection. He need tuh keep wearin’ dis. Until we fin’ dat poppet. He need to tuck it in so de sigil touch his bare chest. Draygo, we got de alligatuh skulls mounted at both entrances tuh de house.”

Draco let out a grunt of protest. Hermione sat next to him and wiped a cool cloth over his forehead, pushing his sweaty hair back. “Hush, Draco. Henri knows this brand of magic better than anyone.”

Draco mumbled something that sounded like, “bunch of hoopla” and both Henri and Adam laughed. “I’m gunna bring Caly pass’ tuhnigh’ if da’s okay. She need tuh smudge de bad energy outta heuh. Maybe invoke Papa Sobo Kessou to watch ovuh yuh.”

“That would be great, Henri. Thank you for your consideration,” Hermione said, extending her hand as he bent to kiss it.

“He gunna be bettuh. I ‘spect he’ll be in school tuhmorrow. And Bill’s itchin’ fuh yuh tuh start. So get well, Pony,” Henri said, turning with Adam to leave.

“We’ll be back at lunch to check on you,” Adam said as a goodbye, giving Hermione a small wave.

Draco opened one eye when the room fell silent. “You believe any of this?”

Hermione shrugged noncommittally. “I spent half of my life believing magic was only in fairy tales. And here I am, a witch.”

“A damn good witch,” he replied, putting his hand on her knee.

She shrugged, still embarrassed by his compliments at times. “Let’s get these into your system and maybe we can get you a bath.”

She opened the three vials and held the first out to him. He opened his lips, dry and cracking, and Hermione tipped the potions back one by one. He grimaced slightly, but was relieved that he could barely taste it through his illness anyway. He sat back against the headboard once more, relishing the feel of the cool mahogany against his bare skin. He sat still for a few moments and let the sensations wash over him. A cool feeling spread through him, calming the burning he’d felt under the surface of his skin.

Hermione lifted his arm up and looked at the Mark. It was healing by way of calendula salve. The open wounds had knitted closed and were beginning to scab over. She ran a finger over the raised skin. He shivered. “Itchy,” he said simply.

She ran her nails gently over the surface of his skin and he gave soft moan of delight. Draco watched her hand move delicately over his arm and felt a wave of appreciation for his witch. Her nails were dragging over a new, fresh, horrific reminder of his past indiscretions, and yet she showed no outward sign of disgust. Hermione truly accepted Draco for who he was currently, who he had been. She held hope for who he would become and the thought was humbling. He lifted his hand, a feat much easier as Calypso’s concoctions worked through him, and pushed a stray curl behind her ear.

“You’re incredible, you know?” he asked, his voice still hoarse but getting steadily stronger.

Hermione said nothing before she leaned forward and placed her lips to his forehead. She held them there for a long moment and he felt her soft breaths against his skin. He snaked his arms around her and she wrapped one arm around his shoulders and with her other hand, cupped his cheek, prickly with six days growth. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replied, running a hand over hair.

She pulled back and retrieved the warm tea and toast she’d brought up with her. Draco, gaining strength with every passing moment, was suddenly ravenous. Hermione gave him a mischievous, teasing look. “Shall I do the choo-choo as I feed you? Or perhaps whizz the toast around like a broomstick?”

Draco let out a cracked laugh. “I can feed myself, Granger.”

“We really need to talk about you calling me ‘Granger,’” she said, rolling her eyes as a smile played at her lips.

He raised one eyebrow and munched gratefully on his toast, which to his delight was spread liberally with peanut butter. “What do you mean? You’ve always been my Granger.”

“Yes…but we need to talk about when I’m going to be your Malfoy.”

His eyes sparkled slightly and he swallowed his food with a gulp of tea. He cleared his throat. “When do you want to become my Malfoy?”

She shifted, suddenly energized as it was evident the potions were working on him and he was coming back to her. “I was thinking around Christmas.”

He nearly choked. “So soon?”

“I’d go to a Muggle courthouse today if I thought the traditions didn’t mean so much to you,” she shrugged.

He laughed. “Christmas, then. How fitting…we fell in love over Christmas, now we’ll wed over Christmas.”

She smiled, as though she were hiding something, Draco’s ever-perceptive gaze picking up on the subtle smirk she wore. “Why do I feel like you know something I don’t?”

She hummed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. How about we try to get you to the bath? Do you think you can walk? Or shall I get Theo?”

Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he tossed the blankets off. She helped pull him up from the headboard and into a sitting position with his legs over the side of the bed. She braced herself to hoist him into a standing position and clasped his hand. He jerked her forward some, looking at her. “Don’t test me witch. What are you plotting?”

She kissed the tip of his nose. “Honestly. Can’t I surprise you for once?”

“In my state, a surprise may kill me,” he replied, still holding her close to him.

“So melodramatic. I can watch the color returning to your skin as we speak. Well…what little color you have,” Hermione laughed.

“Hey…I am pleasantly porcelain,” he said, pushing to lift himself as she pulled him up.

“If you say so.”

“You’ve never had any complaints,” he countered.

She was standing behind him as he slowly walked to the bathroom. She gave him a playful growl and ran her nails down his bare back in appreciation of his words. She flicked her wand and the tap in the bath began running his perfect temperature water. “I had Theo pick up some more calendula buds and some other healing herbs,” she mentioned, sprinkling some in the water. “We’ll put more salve on the scars, but it’s already looking really good.”

Draco was leaning on the doorframe when she crossed to help him undress. “Are you going to get in with me?” he asked, playfully even though he was still much weaker than normal.

“Easy there Casanova. There’s plenty of time for that. Let’s get you clean and pretty,” she told him, holding his hands to help him step out of his pants.

He grunted and stepped into the bath. “What does Adam have up his sleeve for Weasley?” he asked once he’d settled.

Hermione sat on the edge of the bath and put her feet in, running her toe along the outside of his thigh absently. “He wants her to join Mortuary school and get an apprenticeship with the LeRoux’s.”

“How are we going to explain her suddenly joining the school a month in?” he asked skeptically.

“Henri said that it’s not unusual for people to come in a month late—apparently paperwork can take a while from state to state.”

“Her accent. And her picture’s been all over Quidditch magazines and the Prophet after the War. They’ll know right off. Why don’t you let Theo do it?” he reasoned.

“Theo is getting a position with something called a removal service? Apparently their funeral home doesn’t go out at night to pick up…people. They have a company do it for them. Theo is going to get a position with them. That’ll give him access to the funeral home at night. Ginny will have access during the day. And…her looks won’t be a problem much longer. Adam is working with her on her accent—she sounds like…a really proper American.”

“This shit is dangerous. Someone is going to get hurt. Why don’t we just go to LeRoux’s funeral home and Avada her from afar?” he asked, every bit serious.

Draco did not like the idea of anyone placing themselves in even more danger on his behalf. Theo had already given up an entire term in school to come all the way to Louisiana and watch over him. Potter was coming—much to his chagrin—and that imbecile was a magnet for death and destruction. And Ginny, she was fierce but she didn’t even care for him other than he was Hermione’s betrothed and Theo’s brother.

“That’s a splendid idea, Malfoy. I’ll volunteer,” Theo’s voice rang into the bedroom.

“Nott, I am naked!”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Now…is Hermione also naked?” he called suggestively.

“That’s my witch you’re envisioning, Nott. Stifle yourself before I tell your witch. As I recall she’s quite proficient with a Bat-Bogey Hex,” Draco replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, hurry up in there. There’s someone here to see you,” Theo called.

Draco looked up at Hermione, who was positively bubbling with excitement. Potter had arrived. “All right then. Let’s get this over with.”

A grouchy temperament settled over him as Hermione cleaned his skin. She ran warm water from her wand over his fine blond hair, rinsing soap from it. He sighed and allowed her to work, feeling much better than he had but not fully able yet. She flicked her wand and a towel flew at him as the water drained. It dried him as she went into the room and retrieved a t-shirt, boxers and a loose pair of jeans for him to wear.

She helped him dress and he felt his legs give subtle weak vibrations. He was going to kill Natalie LeRoux when he saw her next. “Let’s go down,” Hermione said excitedly.

Draco growled and grabbed her hand. “No. I haven’t shaved in a week. I want to be properly clean.”

She stomped her foot impatiently but waved her wand and his shaving things began lathering him, the straight razor making quick work of his face. She put some of his pomade between her hands and brushed his hair for him, not quite styling it as proficiently as he did, but close enough.

“How’s that?” she asked, putting toothpaste on his brush.

He brushed his teeth and sprayed cologne on himself. “Much better,” he said, stowing his items away neatly. “I almost feel like myself again.”

Draco was eager to return to a routine. Lying helpless in bed for days had taken its toll on his confidence, his psyche, his ego. He refused in that moment to allow his mind to wander to the thoughts that had plagued him since he’d awoken on Saturday. How can I protect my witch if I can’t protect myself…she deserves Weasley, their life would be so much more simple…I’m dangerous…

He could practically feel the energy bubbling off of her as she helped him down the stairs. As they reached the bottom, a thought struck him. “How did Potter cross the wards?”

It was at that precise moment that there was a loud shriek of “LITTLE DRAGON!” and a firm female body was flung around him. To say that Draco was shocked that his mother was standing in his house in Slidell was an understatement. His rigidity wore off and he hugged his mother back, her decidedly non-aristocratic behavior catching him even more off guard. “Mother.”

Draco looked around as he hugged her and Theo was smiling at him. Potter was looking around as though he were lost. And Hermione was dabbing at her eye. Narcissa pulled back, her eyes wet. “Oh, my little dragon. What have you gotten yourself into now?” she asked, running her hands over his face, his arms, his Mark, seemingly checking him for wounds.

Draco was speechless as she doted over him. Hermione smiled at him encouragingly. “I convinced Minister Shacklebolt to let her come here for a few months.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I knew it! That’s why you were asking about dates for the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Potter asked from the corner, his eyes boggling out of his head.

Hermione looked at her friend and crossed to give him a hug. Draco tamped down the small surge of envy he felt. “Hermione. Can someone please explain what is going on? I feel like I fell into the Twilight Zone. Like any minute Rod Serling is going to pop out of the bushes!” Harry exclaimed.

Hermione laughed at that and Draco wrinkled his nose in confusion, swatting his mother’s hand away from his freshly brushed hair. “Why don’t we sit?” Theo said, gesturing to the couches.

He sat and put his arm across the back of the couch, where Hermione sat as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Draco sat next to his mother, who refused to release his hand. Potter was standing, eyeing them all as though his head were going to explode at any moment. “Can someone explain to me what is going on? I go away for a year and all of a sudden, Kingsley is knocking on my door last night, telling me that I’ve effectively passed Academy and that my first assignment was to protect Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger in America! Spent the last hour trying to register Mrs. Malfoy’s wand…”

Hermione looked at him guiltily. “So, you haven’t talked with Ron then.”

“I was quarantined. You know that.”

Draco watched as his witch’s face fell slightly, her mood nervous and uncertain. He cleared his throat. “Hermione and I are in love and we’re getting married. At Christmas.”

Potter looked over at him as Narcissa smirked widely. “Excuse me?”

Draco looked at his longtime rival. “I said, Hermione and I—”

“I heard you, Malfoy. What I want to know is how? How do you go from bullying her and advocating for the killing of people like her to loving her?”

“He switched sides. You know he wasn’t truly a Death Eater!” Narcissa said severely.

“Careful, Potter,” Theo said, eyeing his girlfriend’s ex with thinly veiled contempt.

“Harry…that is a long and winding story. And one we can discuss later. Brief synopsis: eighth year happened, Malfoy is the greatest man I’ve ever met, I’m madly in love with him, we live in America. And he’s a budding undertaker,” Hermione said, waving her hand as though it were inconsequential. “Let’s get down to current business.”

“Let’s,” Narcissa said stiffly.

Potter raised both eyebrows, his arms still crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Kingsley said some group of American purebloods are trying to strong arm you into becoming their leader. What happened?”

Draco opened his mouth to speak but Hermione beat him to it. He leaned back on the couch and his mother put her head on his shoulder as they listened to her tell them everything she knew of Natalie, poppets, the Salem witches, Henri and his family, the letter and pie, Solomon’s Coterie. When she finished, Potter was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, his head in his hands. “Merlin, Hermione. Is that all?”

“Take a breath, dear,” Narcissa agreed, leaning up to retrieve her bag.

She stood and pulled a rolled cloth from the bag, tapping it once with her wand. The cloth expanded and pulled and levitated in front of the wall with the television. The Malfoy family tapestry. Draco pushed himself up and walked over to it, the others following suit. “Blood wards aren’t that sensitive. A person has to be within the last thirteen generations in order to pass through,” she said, running her fingers over various branches of their family tree.

“LeRoux…meaning red-haired…I wonder if she’s related by way of the Prewitt’s or Weasley’s?” Narcissa mused, turning her attention to an area of the tapestry where the Sacred Twenty-Eight’s families were heavily intertwined.

‘There!” Theo pointed to a small circle of a stately looking man.

Gaston Pierre LeRoux. Married Elmira Prewitt. Born 1756. Died 1799. A straight line of only children all the way down until their branch ran off of the tapestry. “I thought the LeRoux’s were already in Louisiana by that time?” Hermione asked.

“Doesn’t mean he was…he could have travelled back to Europe to try and recruit other Coterie believers,” Draco reasoned.

“What do you make of the Coterie nonsense?” Theo questioned Narcissa.

She furrowed her brow as they all stared at the Frenchman’s likeness forever sewn into the family tree. “It makes sense, in theory. I’m not sure I buy into the theory, however. There’s a reason why these tapestries and trees begin with one person and grow from there.”

“Regardless, you need to strengthen these wards further,” Potter said, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I never thought I’d agree with Potter, but he’s right. We are all going to need unlimited access in and out of the wards while we’re here. We can all spill a little blood to ensure the safety,” Theo remarked.

At that precise moment, Ginny cleared her throat at the base of the stairs. Harry turned around and looked, if possible, more flabbergasted than he had before. “Let’s leave them alone,” Hermione said, pulling Theo with her.

o-o-o

Hermione brought a pitcher of lemonade and some glasses out onto the back porch where Draco, Narcissa and Theo all sat. Theo was glancing in through the window toward Ginny and Harry. Narcissa seemed to be fussing over Draco’s clothing. “What are you wearing?” she asked, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the t-shirt.

“Muggle clothing,” Draco said with a shrug.

“It’s dreadful. Feels as though it will fall apart in my fingers,” she commented, pinching his sleeve.

“That’s because you can’t feel the magic binding the fibers,” he replied and Hermione smiled to herself.

“Yes, well. We can certainly go buy you some decent clothing in the wizarding New Orleans. Something tailor-made,” she retorted.

Draco rolled his eyes. Theo clucked his tongue. “She’s right, you know. You are a Malfoy.”

Hermione shot Theo a glare and he shrugged. Draco looked in her direction. “They’re right, you know. Natalie wants a strong prominent wizard to rule. Why not look the part? The Malfoy’s have always been a strong, prominent family. Show her she’s not going to drag me down.”

She pursed her lips. “You look fine in Muggle clothing. You blend in more.”

Narcissa raised one aristocratic eyebrow in her direction. “Miss Granger, the Malfoy men do not blend in. They are meant to stand out. Just look at their striking features—corn silk blond hair, finer than a Veela’s; grey eyes prettier than the ocean in a thunderstorm; prominent, angular cheekbones and jawlines. My dear, you are marrying into the finest bloodline in Europe in a thousand years.”

Hermione looked at Draco’s face, where his mother ran a hand lovingly over his smooth jaw. He was smirking in the most old-fashioned Malfoy way she’d seen in a year and she felt the urge to punch him in his smug face, third-year style. She rolled her eyes. “If you want to go back to prancing around like a pretty little peacock, by all means.”

“I do not prance,” he corrected her.

“And you are marrying into this family. You might try to play the part as well,” Narcissa mentioned, sipping the lemonade and puckering her cheeks at its tartness.

“Mother,” Draco warned.

The elder witch shrugged. “I’m simply saying that perhaps she could get over the aversion to being wealthy and embrace it a little. Maybe get some nice, handmade Fae-sewn clothing? A lovely necklace to match that devastatingly gorgeous ring he placed on your finger? Miss Granger, you have more gold at your disposal than half of the vaults at Gringott’s combined. Act like it.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She knew Draco was wealthy and that he had always loved to flaunt that—the house, his car, her ring. But she had hoped they were reaching a balance. She’d grown up in a better position than many others, but she was by no means rich. It was more than she could wrap her mind around to be able to purchase whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

She looked to Theo, who rocked in his chair and watched her. “She’s right, Granger. Our boy is insanely affluent and influential. Don’t be afraid to embrace his lifestyle. Let him dote on you and shower you with anything he chooses. Because he chose you. And if he wants to wear thousand galleon boots imported from Italy, let him. Merlin knows, he’s fought enough of a fight to get here.”

“There’s more important things in life than money, Nott,” Hermione sniffed indignantly.

“Yes, and you have plenty of romance in your life as well,” Theo shrugged. “You’re going to be a Malfoy soon. You’ve got a reputation to live up to.”

Hermione perched herself on Draco’s knee and crossed her arms. He put a hand on the small of her back and the other on her thigh, giving a gentle laugh. “Don’t look so put out, Granger.”

Narcissa cleared her throat. “Well, if we are quite done arguing over such triviality,” she gave Hermione a pointed look, “what do we plan on doing about this little red-headed wench harming my son?”

Hermione and Theo explained the plan to go undercover, which Theo dubbed Operation Prancing Peacock. Narcissa listened with out comment, running a finger over her lips as she did, deep in thought. When they’d finished speaking she set her cup down and crossed her ankles primly. “Well…that’s certainly a creative plan. I have a better one.”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked apprehensively.

“We find out where she lives and kill her in the night,” the Malfoy matriarch stated simply.

Theo raised his hands in the air in an “I already offered to do just that” way, clapping them against his thighs indignantly. “That’s what I said,” Draco replied and the three looked at her as though she were crazy.

Hermione groaned and looked at the three Slytherins, worlds away from being Death Eaters, but still seeping long-ingrained Darkness. “We are not killing anyone. We have a plan.”

“This girl almost killed my only child,” Narcissa argued.

“So did Voldemort and your own husband, yet you didn’t kill either of them!” Hermione yelled, drawing the attention of Harry and Ginny inside.

“Hermione!” Theo admonished angrily. “That was totally uncalled for!”

“Hermione,” Draco whispered, running a hand under the back of her shirt to touch her back soothingly. “Relax. We’re only talking. We’re going ahead with the plan.”

Narcissa was looking at her, her jaw set in a stony manner and Hermione withered under the witch’s gaze. “I apologize,” she said, only half sincerely. “I get very protective of Draco…we’ve spent a year trying to over come what he’s been through already and for him to be facing this…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as her voice cracked.

Narcissa looked at her for a few long moments and gave a single nod. “When you find this poppet, you bring that little bint to me. I will finish this,” she said, an arctic ice shinning in her blue eyes that made Hermione shiver in the late Louisiana summer.

“Mrs. Malfoy. I’m personally responsible for you…if you go to Azkaban, so do I,” Hermione said, biting her lip nervously.

Narcissa waved her hand. “We’ll turn her into MACUSA. But she will suffer for what she has done to my Dragon.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Hermione admitted. “Once I’m done with her, she may beg me to take her to the authorities.”

Theo was looking back and forth between the two witches. “Salazar’s soggy left testicle! You two are scary as hell! I almost feel bad for Natalie.”

Draco was looking in wide-eyed awe at his witch, and if the fingertips pressing firmly into the small of her back was any indication, he was thoroughly turned on by her display of protective dominance on his behalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Uh oh. Mama Malfoy and Draco’s witch are teaming up, despite the lingering friction between them. They are going to be a frightening duo…  
> Thank you, as usual, for your support of this story. Please review!
> 
> Also, I read something on a facebook forum about writers responding to reviews. Apparently some writers respond to every review, always. I respond every once in a while, but for the most part I read them and take them to heart silently. I respond to every PM I get here or on tumblr, but I feel like I would be bothering the reader to respond to every review they leave. I don’t want you to feel like, “this chick is weird and she keeps talking to me.”
> 
> But know that I am reading your input and relishing your thoughts. You all are amazing! I love writing and sharing my ideas with you all and I’m humbled by the support you all give me!


	19. Chapter 19

Hermione was washing the dinner dishes by hand. Dinner was certainly a strange affair, with their old and new friends and Narcissa thrown together. She found herself truly humbled by the support each person was giving to Draco, how sincere they all were in their concern for his wellbeing.

As she scrubbed lasagna pans and plates, she stared out of their kitchen window into the back yard. Draco and his mother were sitting on the porch, talking in the warm summer night. When he finally rose, with Narcissa’s assistance, he came in and crossed to where she stood. He wrapped his arms around her waist and placed his chin on her shoulder. “This would go much faster with magic.”

Hermione scoffed and continued scrubbing. “Now that your mother is here, you’re going right back to your old ways.”

Draco let out a laugh. “I am still a wizard, love. I don’t mind doing things by hand—I’ve already been informed that everything at the funeral home has to be done without magic. But, sometimes it wouldn’t hurt to speed things along.”

“And what about your clothing? She comes and suddenly you want to start wearing expensive suits again,” she argued, miffed at his blasé attitude.

“Hermione,” he warned, “don’t start an argument over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she huffed.

“I’m going up to bed. Have a better attitude when you join me,” he growled and stalked off slowly to climb the stairs.

No sooner than he left, Hermione saw his mother’s reflection in the window before her. “Mrs. Malfoy,” she said, her tone clipped.

“Narcissa,” the elder witch corrected.

Hermione stayed silent and Narcissa took a seat at one of the barstools on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “You love my boy,” she mused and Hermione let the water out of the sink, her final dish cleaned.

She dried her hands and retrieved two teacups and saucers. She placed a kettle on and leaned against the counter. “More than anything,” she finally said after a long pause.

“You’ve drawn him out of himself. He’s softer, more forgiving,” Narcissa commented.

“He’s always been soft and forgiving. It just took some time for him to see it,” Hermione shrugged.

“Draco is a sensitive boy—”

“Man,” Hermione corrected.

“Yes. Man…he’s even got facial hair,” Narcissa said, and she let out a short huff of a laugh.

Hermione smiled slightly and Narcissa sighed. “I don’t know where all of the years went. How everything went so wrong.”

Hermione looked at the blond woman and noticed she looked much older than she had even a year ago. The War and her husband’s subsequent imprisonment was taking its toll on her. She was a fierce and intimidating woman under her polished and elegant façade, but she was more than that. She was a woman, broken by her life’s decisions and the pain she inflicted, however indirectly, on her son.

The kettle whistled next to her and she made two cups of tea, setting Narcissa’s in front of her. She watched as Narcissa’s hand shook ever so slightly as she scooped the sugar into her cup and poured a little milk in. Tremors from the prolonged suffering of the Cruciatus Curse. Hermione silently wondered why Draco had never given his mother any of their Cruciatus Calming Draught.

“How did you get mixed up in all of that mess?” Hermione asked quietly, genuinely curious.

Narcissa worked her jaw, clenching it and unclenching it. Hermione noticed that, despite the strikingly similar features he shared with his father, there was quite a bit of Narcissa’s mannerisms in her fiancée. “Blood purity was always first and foremost in my family’s beliefs. The Black lineage stretches back nearly as far as the Malfoy’s, unsullied until Andromeda married the Tonks boy.”

“But how does that turn into following Voldemort?” Hermione pressed.

Narcissa took a sip of tea and stared at the marble countertop. “I know you will have a hard time believing me when I say this…but Lucius wasn’t always a cold, hardened Death Eater. There was a time when he was gentle, kind even.”

Hermione did have a hard time believing that, but she thought of Draco and how sweet and gentle he could be, despite his upbringing. Narcissa continued to speak. “We began courting at sixteen, as any respectable Pureblood couple does. His beliefs lined up with my own, so it was a good match, sure. But there was so much more to him. He was intelligent, compelling, handsome, a lot like Draco—angular, striking, carried himself with an undeniably attractive air of confidence. So…we fell deeply in love and married. The first war began when we were fifteen, and both the Black and Malfoy families were strong supporters. The Dark Lord had a silver-tongue and promised everything a Pureblooded family could ever want—glory, power, and prominence. When we had Draco, the first War had been raging for a decade already and we truly believed that everything the Dark Lord promised was going to provide a better life for our son.”

Hermione bit back the urge to ask her how that went. “Draco had said once that you and Lucius truly love each other…and that you’d tried many times over to give him a sibling?”

Narcissa smiled wanly. “Yes. But it’s the Pureblood curse, my dear. More than half of us are destined for death upon childbirth or bear only one heir.”

Hermione thought about this. She was not a Pureblood, so would she be susceptible to the same curse, simply by procreating with the picture of Pureblood pedigree? Narcissa looked at her, tapping her finger against the warm cup. “My son has chosen you, above all others. He has risked quite a bit—his inheritance, his family, his reputation amongst other Sacred Twenty-Eight families. I cannot say that I am thrilled about this…but, I am glad that he has found someone that he loves so deeply and who can look beyond his past indiscretions to love him with equal fervor,” she admitted.

“I’ve risked my reputation, as well. ‘Golden Girl Marries Death Eater.’ How do you think that will look?” Hermione asked her, her tone even and uncombative.

Narcissa nodded and finished her tea, waving her wand to get it to clean itself in the sink as they continued to talk. “I can appreciate that. But Draco has tried very hard to clear our name, to make us a respectable family within the community once more. People will come around.”

Hermione shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter to me, either way. My life with Draco is no one else’s business, but ours.”

There was an underlying edge to her last word and Narcissa’s face broke into a fierce grin. “My dear, you are more like me than either of us would care to admit.”

Hermione wanted to disagree, but she could feel the ferocity and protectiveness over Draco welling up inside of her. Narcissa raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “So…Christmas, hmm?”

Hermione’s eyes flashed to hers. “Yule, more precisely. The twenty-first of December.”

“Will you be going through the lunar fertility ritual the moon cycle prior?” Narcissa asked, leaning uncharacteristically on one bent arm on the island.

Hermione bit her lip. “I haven’t decided yet. I feel like we’re young to be parents…we have a lot to accomplish still.”

Narcissa waved her hand dismissively. “Miss Granger, if you wait until the time is right to have children, you will never have any. If you go through the ritual, it will sync your body and mind and you will be protected until the time is right.”

“I would need to talk to Draco about this…he’s the other potential parent,” Hermione said, wringing her hands as she was suddenly nervous.

“It is tradition for the bride’s mother to assist the bride through the cycle… if you would like Molly Weasley to assist you, I understand,” Narcissa said, averting her eyes and stepping down from her barstool.

Hermione studied the woman for a moment and it occurred to her then that this was Narcissa’s way of apologizing and of offering her acceptance. “Let me talk to Draco this evening. If he thinks this is a step in the right direction for us, then I would prefer to have you assist me.”

Narcissa gave a stiff nod and Hermione led her out of the kitchen and up to the largest guest room. She retrieved an extra blanket from the closet and brought it in as the elder witch surveyed the room. “This is a beautiful home,” she commented, touching the bedding.

“I can’t take any credit for this. Draco did this all before I got here,” Hermione said, stepping out of the room momentarily to retrieve a vial of CCD.

“The main way he knows how to show love is to provide for his family. He learned that from his father. He will stop at nothing to dote on you, to shower you with gifts and adoration. Draco is superfluously wealthy, Miss Granger. Do not begrudge him that—embrace it. He is not all mansions and peacocks. He donates a great amount as well—he’s got a heart of gold,” his mother told her when she reentered the room.

Hermione sighed and handed her the vial. “This is the Cruciatus Calming Draught that Draco created.”

Narcissa looked at the swirling silver liquid. “Draco’s given me some of this. I’ve never taken it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t feel I deserve it.”

Hermione felt her mouth fall open at that admission. Though she didn’t see eye to eye on much with the Malfoy matriarch, she felt for her in that moment. She placed a hand on Narcissa’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. The witch’s eyes shot up at the surprising contact. “You need to learn to forgive yourself,” Hermione told her.

Narcissa pursed her lips and merely nodded. Hermione ran her hand over her arm soothingly a few times and then turned to go. “I hope you’ll find this room suitable.”

She closed the door behind her and padded quietly to the room she shared with Draco. When she entered, he was in bed, the room dark and his back to her side of the bed. He was still angry. Hermione sighed and undressed quietly, putting on one of his t-shirts to sleep in. She climbed in under the covers and saddled up behind him, draping her arm over his ribcage and kissing the nape of his neck.

He put his arm over hers and threaded their fingers together. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I promise, I won’t complain about your penchant for the finer things in life again,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “I just want to provide the best life for you, Hermione. You deserve so much more than this…than worrying over me.”

“Hush that nonsense,” she murmured into his soft skin, placing feather light kisses in the stretch of skin that led from his neck to his shoulder.

She felt gooseflesh rise over his body and she hugged him closer to herself. “I had an interesting conversation with your mother.”

“Oh?” he asked quietly.

“Draco…do you want me to go through with the fertility ritual?”

He looked up to where she was resting her chin on his upper arm. “That’s not for me to decide, love. It’s your body, I am merely the catalyst.”

“But do you think we’re ready to have children?” she asked in a low whisper.

He was silent for a few moments, carefully selecting his words. “Hermione, I have always wanted nothing more than to be a father…witches and wizards…we start earlier than Muggles in that regard. It’s nothing for a witch to have two children by the time she is twenty. But, I don’t want to pressure you and make you feel as though only my opinion matters. We’re in this life together.”

“Your mother mentioned that if I go through with the ritual, the magic would protect me from getting pregnant until my mind and body both were ready.”

Draco turned to face her, bringing a hand up to push her curls behind her ear. “That’s true.”

“She asked if I wanted Molly to assist me,” she mentioned, running her fingertips over his bare arm.

His brow furrowed, and he frowned for a fraction of a second. “Oh…well, I suppose that would be the logical answer.”

Hermione looked into his eyes, darkened in the moonlight filtering through their balcony doors. It meant more to him to have his mother be a part of things than he would let on. “I told her I would prefer if she were the one to assist me.”

He looked surprised at that, his eyebrows rising up under his messy hair. “You would give her that honor?”

“I know it means a lot to you both,” Hermione replied, bringing her face to his to nuzzle her nose along his lightly stubbled cheek.

“She’s trying to win you over…if you agree to this, she will certainly warm up to you. That woman could rival Molly Weasley in her desire for grandchildren.”

Draco snaked both arms around her and pulled her closer to himself and kissed her lightly on the lips, his gratitude evident. She pulled back, somewhat reluctantly, and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “You’re still weak. Rest now and let Henri’s potions work their magic in you.”

He voiced a playful growl in response, giving her bum a firm squeeze before kissing her mouth once more and rolling onto his back. She curled into him, thinking of what it would mean to go through with the fertility ritual. They would have to separate for an entire month and there was no way she could bear to leave him vulnerable and alone. And then there was the little riddle of what she would do should her mind and body decide right away to bear children. He must have sensed her mind going rapidly. “Don’t overthink things, love. Let Nature take her course.”

o-o-o

Hermione went down early the next morning, still jittery from an entire night of fitful sleep. When she got to the kitchen, intent on making herself a strong cup of coffee, Harry was already sitting at the island, reading the Muggle paper and munching on toast. “Your drive is a lot longer than it looks, ‘Mione. It was damn near a kilometer to the end to get this paper.”

She laughed and poured herself a mug of black coffee, forgoing the cream and sugar. She sat next to Harry and poked his shoulder, which she noted was much firmer than the last time she’d seen him. “I didn’t get a chance to get you alone yesterday. How did your talk with Ginny go?”

Harry sighed and placed his toast on the plate, no longer hungry. He pushed the plate back from himself. “This all…it’s a shock to me. I mean, I go away for a year and I come back and you’re engaged to Draco Malfoy? And the girl I love is in a serious relationship with Theo Nott? And you’re in America, and Malfoy’s studying to be a Muggle undertaker, and he’s wrapped up in some evil weird American plot to be the next Voldemort?”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. “I know it must be terribly confusing for you.”

“Confusing doesn’t even begin to cover it. How did you get involved with Malfoy, of all people? What happened with Ron?”

“Ron and I agreed to take a break while you were both in training. So, we did, with the promise that if we were still single after the two years, we’d revisit us. And then he was all over the papers kissing that girl. In the meantime…I don’t know, Harry. Something with Draco just…clicked. He’s nothing like we always thought. I mean…we fought like cats and dogs for months at first. But he slowly came out of his hard shell. He’s generous and sweet and amazing. I really think, if you can look past your schoolyard rivalry, you’d really grow to like him.”

“Fat chance, ‘Mione. And Ginny? I assume she went after Nott once I told her I needed to focus on Auror training?” he asked solemnly.

She nodded. “She was pretty upset at first. But I really think she’s doing well now.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped forward a bit. “Yeah…yeah, that’s what she said. She’s going to play for the Harpies…my girl, a Quidditch star.”

“I’m sure you’re proud of her,” Hermione said, putting an arm around Harry’s shoulder.

He gave a soft chuckle and a bob of the head. “Yeah, I am. I just always hoped the back of her jersey would say ‘Potter.’ I have no one to blame but myself, really. I pushed her away.”

“Do you regret it?”

Harry was quiet but slowly shook his head. “No. I love Gin. But…this job takes a lot out of me and requires full dedication. It wouldn’t be fair to her to wait for me to be available to her. And if Nott makes her happy, then so be it.”

“You going to go stag for a while?” she nudged his shoulder with hers.

He laughed at her joke and nodded. “Yeah. I think that would be best.”

Hermione ruffled her friend’s hair, making it even more disheveled. “You’ve matured so much, Harry.”

“Chasing Dark wizards twenty-four-seven will do that to a man…of course, I never thought I’d be staying in the, admittedly really nice, home of the next Lord Voldemort…but hey,” he shrugged, giving Hermione a grin to let her know he was only teasing.

Hermione felt an ease within her that she hadn’t felt since Harry had left for training. Conversations with him were just, easy. Natural.

o-o-o

“You look good, my man,” Theo said, brushing the shoulders of the suit Draco was getting tailored.

“I’d almost forgotten what a well-tailored suit did for my confidence,” Draco replied with a laugh.

“I wonder how Hermione is getting along with your mother and Red?” Theo mused, looking far too gleeful at the prospect that Narcissa would be giving Hermione hell.

“They’re probably clawing each other’s eyes out like kneazles,” Draco rolled his eyes as the seamstress witch hemmed his left pant leg.

“That’s one cat fight I’d like to see,” the tall dark-haired wizard laughed.

“Hey…that’s my mother and my witch, Nott,” the blond narrowed his eyes in the mirror, egging on a fresh hearty laugh from Theo.

Harry sat with his arms crossed on an ottoman behind them. “I’m so glad I got called to babysit you here in the States. Really, clothes shopping is what I’ve trained so hard for. Riveting.”

Both Theo and Draco glared at Harry in the mirror’s reflection.

o-o-o

“So then, I hit Lucius with a temporary blinding spell, and he stumbled right into the pool!” Narcissa laughed, and Ginny and Hermione joined her.

It seemed that Hermione’s willingness to go through with the fertility ritual and her desire for Narcissa to be the guiding witch made the Malfoy loosen up. She’d been pleasant to both girls throughout the day. After the beautician’s parlor, they’d had lunch then Hermione had dragged them into the bookstore to find any and every book she could lay hands on with regards to voodoo, poppets and Pureblood American families.

They were presently standing in a high-end clothier, with Narcissa and an assistant pulling items from the shelf that would match Ginny’s new undercover look: long, flowing golden locks, a deep tan over freckle-free skin, bright blue eyes. She looked as though she had been vacationing on the beaches of California.

“I guess Lucius learned to never try and sneak a peek at a blushing bride again!” Ginny replied as the store’s assistant ushered her toward a fitting room.

While Ginny was changing, Narcissa walked around more racks of clothing. “Would you like to try a few things on?” she asked Hermione casually.

Narcissa Malfoy was about as subtle as Molly Weasley, and just as pushy. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. “No. I think I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure? You’ll be meeting with prospective clients and other figureheads in the creature-rescue community. Perhaps a few nice dresses and a couple new robes? To make a good impression?” Narcissa asked, giving the assistant a nod as she pointed at robes made of cashmere in an attractive shade of lilac.

Hermione put a hand out and felt the texture of the robes, and she noted how it flowed through her fingers like water, softer than any other material she’d ever felt. It reminded her of Draco’s school robes. “Oh.”

Narcissa smirked. “Why don’t you try it on, dear? I’m paying for everything today. You both are helping my boy.”

Hermione bit her lip. The rational part of her brain—the half stating she didn’t need robes of this fine quality, sparred with the irrational part—the half that was currently pouting because she wanted the robes. She sighed and went into the fitting room adjacent to Ginny’s, Narcissa grinning a triumphant, smug smirk behind her.

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, Narcissa is starting to come around. Finally.
> 
> Next chapter? Teaching Ginny and Theo to drive, Ginny interviews with LeRoux’s funeral home, Theo gets hired with the removal service because of sheer brawn and hijinks ensue, and Draco finds out if he can handle being around the deceased or if he’s going to be thrust into a PTSD episode!
> 
> Thank you for the support you all have given this story! Please review and let me know what you think, what you want to see happen, etc. And don’t worry about coming off as awkward in reviews! Those are the best ones!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to update this. Honestly, I’m losing motivation with this story. I don’t know if it’s because there is only like 5 more chapters before it’s done and I don’t know if I’m trying to just live in denial that it’s drawing to a close, or if I am more in love with my new story and want to focus on it… I’m only updating this for Moonsong78, who asked nicely.
> 
> Also, Draco’s first embalming scene is described in moderate detail below. It’s marked with three asterisks to start and finish it. If you get queasy, skip it. If curiosity burns within you—if you are the kind of person who enjoys watching surgical videos online or reading some morbid books, read on. I do not want a review stating ‘could have done without that scene.’ I warned you. I had a few requests for descriptions of his work. This is one aspect.

“POOOONNNNNAAAAAAAYYYYYY!” Henri screamed when Draco entered the funeral home for his first day of work.

He left the casket that he and Adam were navigating through the hall and sauntered over to him and threw his arms around Draco, lifting him high into the air. The blond laughed when his feet were firmly on the ground and Adam threw his arm around his shoulders and planted a firm kiss on his cheek. “Damn, Pony. We thought you were going to be our next call, and yet here you are walking into the funeral home!”

“Thanks to Henri’s strange brand of magic,” Draco said, placing a hand over the alligator tooth that hung around his neck, under his suit and tie.

“How you feel, Draygo?” Henri asked, once again pushing the casket into a viewing room.

“Better. Still having some strange spasms here and there,” he shrugged.

“She still tryin’ tuh hex yuh. Dose potions an’ talismans I gave yuh will protect yuh until Geeny can fin’ dat poppet,” Henri nodded knowingly.

“I suppose a simple ‘Accio poppet’ is out of the question?” Draco joked, watching as Adam opened the head of the casket to put the deceased on display.

“She likely placed uh hiding spell on it.”

Adam fluffed the casket interior and raised the bed to bring the deceased up higher and Draco felt a queasy feeling in his throat. The elderly man was dressed in a military uniform of some kind and Henri was folding an American flag over the closed bottom half of the casket as they spoke. “When is his service?” Draco asked, swallowing a few times to keep from vomiting.

“Tomorrow. His family’s coming in tonight,” Adam said, turning on a rose colored lamp and bathing the room in a soft pink light.

“We’ve got uh removal tuh go on heuh in uh minute. You wanna go? Learn de ropes?” Henri asked, moving a crucifix behind the casket and lighting candles on either end.

Draco nodded slowly, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. “You alrigh’?” Henri asked, gesturing toward the door.

“Yeah. I just haven’t seen bodies since the War really. Bit…unnerving,” he responded.

“You be alrigh.’ We’ll take it one step at uh time.”

Henri and Adam led him into a garage area where a sleek black minivan was parked. Draco ran a finger over a silver strip on the side. “Landau bar,” Adam told him. “Back in the day, a landau bar used to serve as a spring on a convertible top, horse-drawn carriage. Now it’s purely aesthetic.”

Henri opened the back hatch of the minivan. There were two beds in the back—stretchers, Henri called them. “Always make sure you got two stretchers, Po.’”

They climbed into the van and Draco buckled his seatbelt as Henri pushed a button and the garage door opened. And then they were off—Henri drived like he was flying a broom, fast and sporadic. Draco gripped the door, his eyes wide and feet pressed into the floorboards.

o-o-o

“Nott, you had better slow this thing down, or so help me, I will murder you!” Hermione shrieked, holding onto the door of the old truck Theo had bought himself.

He had wanted to get the whole “living within his means” persona down and had bought a twenty year old pick up that he’d seen with a price tag and phone number in the window alongside the road. He and Ginny had been practicing with Hermione and Harry for three days to get their driving under control.

Unfortunately for Hermione, this meant Theo had enough confidence to get up on the highway and press his foot to the floor. It was early enough in the day and most people were working, so they had the highway virtually to themselves and he drew encouragement from this.

He got that old pickup truck to gun it and was winding it through the twists and turns of the Louisiana state highway system like he was driving a race car. Hermione was screeching and Ginny was giggling with pure glee in the backseat. Harry did not look at all amused. “Seriously, Nott! You’re going to get stopped by the—”

Just as Harry said that, blue lights flicked on in a white car and the car pulled out behind them. “Oh, you prat! Now we’ve got to explain why you don’t have a valid driver’s license!” Hermione spat.

“I got this, Hermione,” Theo said in his best American accent.

“Sweet Merlin, we’re done for!”

Theo pulled to the side of the road and the car stopped behind him. A uniformed officer hopped out of it faster than Hermione had ever seen anyone move on their feet. Theo hand-cranked the window down and gave the officer a polite smile. “Morning.”

“Morning? Morning? Son, do you have any damn idea how fast you were going?” the officer asked, giving Theo a withering look.

“No sir,” Theo’s American accent was driving Ginny to giggle behind her hand in the back seat.

“Can I see your license and registration?” the officer asked, and Theo nodded, pretending to lean over to the glove compartment.

“Confundus,” he whispered and he winked at Hermione.

The officer looked around himself, confused. “Was there anything else you needed, sir?” Theo asked politely.

The trooper looked around at the truck and back at his car and shook his head, puzzled on how he’d lost five minutes of time. “No, son. Next time, slow down.”

“Will do. Sorry for the inconvenience,” Theo said and he rolled up the window.

Hermione swatted his arm as Ginny let out a full belly laugh. “That. Was. Not. Funny,” Hermione smacked him between each word.

“I could arrest you for that, Nott,” Harry admonished, grinning mischievously in the back seat as he realized that was exactly what he would have done.

“Ah, he’ll never remember,” Theo waved her off and pulled the truck back onto the road. “What do you say we do it again?”

“I am going to kill you! You wait until Draco finds out you put his betrothed in danger!” Hermione shrieked, causing the dark-haired wizard to let out a bellowing laugh.

o-o-o

***“Put dese on,” Henri said, handing Draco a stack of items.

He plucked them apart one by one and inspected each carefully—a liquid-impervious embalming gown, a pair of nitrile gloves, a face mask with some kind of plastic shield, a hair bonnet and things to slip over his shoes. He wrinkled his nose—Muggles really needed to devise simpler ways of protecting themselves.

Draco pulled the gown on first, with the opening at the back just as Henri had done. He was instructed to use his thumbs to poke holes in the sleeves before he pulled gloves on, “so de sleeves don’ ride up and blood don’ get all in yuh shirt sleeves.” He then pulled on the shoe covers and hair bonnet before pulling the mask on. “You look good, brudduh,” Henri said, clapping him on the shoulder and pointing to the mirror that hung on the back of a door.

Draco felt foolish, but Henri ensured him it was proper protocol to wear these items to embalm. The two of them got the body out of its bag, through a series of turns and Henri promised that after he learned the No-maj way, as long as the others weren’t around, they’d use magic for all of these mundane tasks.

“The whole reason I wanted to do this was to study Muggle embalming techniques so that when I go back home to England, I can devise a combination of Muggle and Magical techniques to achieve near perfect results,” Draco commented as Henri pulled a steel cart toward them.

All of the steel instruments he’d touched the day he was hired gleamed in the fluorescent lighting. He looked from them to the deceased woman lying on the table—middle aged, died of a rare lymphoma, the family had said…whatever that meant. While they’d been at the house, transferring the woman from her makeshift hospital bed to their cot, Draco had done a series of deep breathing techniques and had managed just fine.

But Henri was getting ready to make an incision. Blood would flow, crimson against the stainless-steel table. He was dreading the moment. Henri moved to one side of the table and indicated for him to go to the opposite side. “Firs’, we need to bend de limbs, tuh break de riguh mo’tis.”

Henri sprayed the body with a strong-smelling disinfectant and they set to work, bending and massaging. Then Henri moved around to the woman’s head and stood behind the table and indicated for Draco to come stand next to him. “We start by makin’ an incision on the right side, just by de colluh bones. It doesn’ need tuh be long—an inch uh so,” he said, putting a scalpel to her skin.

Draco literally closed one eye as the scalpel opened flesh and Henri retrieved two six inch stainless steel rods, a dull point on one end and a hook on the other—aneurysm hooks. He displayed the proper way to poke through muscle tissue with the dull end and how to “raise vessels”—the carotid artery and jugular vein—with the hooked end. He used string to tie off the vessels and then he inserted a metal cannula into the artery and a long pair of tweezers into the vein.

The coppery smell of blood filled Draco’s senses as it ran down the table and he breathed, trying not to have a PTSD attack right then and there. He said a wandless spell and filled his nose with the smell of vanilla to distract him. Henri gestured to the large curio cabinet and the various chemicals. He explained briefly what each chemical’s specialty was and then grabbed three bottles—two pink and one red.

He took them to the embalming machine and filled the tank with lukewarm water and the three bottles of chemicals. A long hose connected the machine to the neck. Henri then explained the intricacies on how exactly a head should be positioned—forty-five-degree angle, facing slightly to the right. He walked Draco through the purpose and need for plastic discs to be placed under the eyelids, and then demonstrated the proper way to wire a jaw shut and how to place cotton—“lil by lil so it don’ look like she suckin’ on uh lemon—into the mouth to fill in low spots.

Draco was doing well handling the close contact with the woman, surprising himself. Two hours later, after being shown how to aspirate using a long metal rod and how to sew an incision shut and how to properly administer a final bath, they were stripping out of their embalming suits.***

“Normally, we listen tuh music or have some deep intuhlectual convuhsations ‘round de embalmin’ table. But how you t’ink yuh firs’ time wen’? yuh didn’ pass out!” Henri said, pride in his voice.

Draco nodded. “It was okay. Like you said, I didn’t hit the floor.”

“Le’s get de paperwork filled out—my dad wan’ us tuh go clean out de mausoleum.”

o-o-o

Hermione met Tabitha Mulbane at the sanctuary, which Hermione had named St. Francis’ Place for Magical Creatures. They had finished building the necessary enclosures and structures earlier than planned and the two were walking through to inspect it.

As they slowly strolled along the mermaid’s lake, Hermione was smiling widely. “I can’t believe this is finally happening. I need to contact Charlie Weasley—he had a small thunder of miniscuras to bring.”

“I built a small, fire-proof, mock desert for them in with the serpent enclosures,” Tabitha remarked, pointing to a marble building that had intricate snakes and other reptiles carved into the stone.

“Excellent. We need to contact Kerry Hargrove at the House Elf Displacement Center. By my estimation, we have room for about thirty elves,” Hermione said.

“I will make the call as soon as we get back to the office. We got word that there is a unicorn foal with a broken leg in South Carolina—I’m going to make the trip myself to retrieve it,” Tabitha replied.

Hermione looked around, remembering her argument with Draco on Valentine’s Day. She had accused him of trying to use her emotions with regards to creature welfare to con her into moving here with him. She had known for a long time now that he was not the type of person to do something so hurtful. But as she looked around at acres of land, dozens of intricately designed buildings, a deep and sprawling lake for the sea creatures, she really appreciated how well he knew her, even back then.

Draco had donated handsomely to this cause, one near and dear to his own heart as well, so that she would have a place to do some good in this world. He genuinely cared about her interests and her beliefs. Just that morning, without teasing about SPEW, he had mentioned the urgency with which she needed to contact the overflowing House Elf Displacement Center. He took her emotions and ambitions to heart and tried everything within his power to make her dreams become a reality.

And it made her love him even more. She bid Tabitha farewell and Apparated back home. As she did, she instantly realized something was wrong. Draco was on the front porch, his head in his hands, with his mother running a soothing hand over his back and Theo watching on with his hands on his hips. Ginny and Harry were staring at them from a distance. They caught sight of Hermione and Harry ambled down the stairs to meet her. “I’m not so sure I’d go up there right now, ‘Mione.”

“Why? What’s happened, Harry? Is he hurt, oh Merlin—”

Harry put a hand up and hovered it over her chest. “Breathe. No. He’s fine…your cat killed his dragon.”

Hermione looked at Harry as though he had just grown a second head. “Excuse me?”

“Crookshanks…he ate Eugene…” Harry replied slowly.

Hermione felt her heart sink. Besides herself, Eugene was the one thing Draco loved above all else in this world. He had been Draco’s tiny companion for over ten years. She felt guilt begin to set in as she realized her pet had done this. As if Draco hadn’t had enough heartache to contend with.

“I have to go to him…I’m sure he’s upset…” she told Harry, looking around him as Draco lifted his face.

He wasn’t crying but he looked menacingly angry. He stood and strode down the stairs two at a time, his shirt untucked and his tie askew. He pointed a finger at her angrily. “That fucking bloodthirsty little beast of yours killed my dragon!”

His mother was hot on his heels and she grabbed his arm, jerking his shaking hand out of the air. Hermione could feel it—the impending row—prickling in the air around them like static electricity. It had been so long since they had had an all-out, knock-down-drag-out, blow-to-blow row. She could see the old Malfoy’s anger in his eyes, silver turned dark pewter and she felt the old Hermione begin to well within her. They had once been so good at this…she wondered if they still had that old spark in them.

She pursed her lips as Harry stepped in front of her. “Back off, Malfoy.”

“Harry, get out of my way!” she said, literally pushing her friend away.

“Everyone, make yourselves scarce. I want to have a word with my betrothed,” Draco said through clenched teeth, not taking his eyes from Hermione.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, crossing his arms with his wand gripped firmly in one hand.

“Harry, leave us. Now,” Hermione said, her voice raising an octave in near excited anticipation.

“‘Mione,” he started, but he was cut off by Narcissa.

“Potter. They are adults. Draco will not harm her…he may need to watch out, however,” she smirked and beckoned the bespectacled man into the house.

“Come on, Harry. Let’s go. They’ll be okay for a little while,” Ginny said, placing her hand on Harry’s arm.

He seemed to melt some at Ginny’s touch and relented. He jabbed his wand into Draco’s chest. “Harm her and I’ll kill you.”

Draco made no sign that he’d heard Harry. There was only blind rage flowing through him. He scratched at his arm, where the Dark Mark was beginning to burn with the force of it. When he heard the door slam shut behind him, Draco took another step forward. “That damn kneazle of yours slaughtered my pet. I told you I hated that decrepit ball of fluff since day one.”

“Well, Crookshanks is my pet. How was I supposed to know that something like this would happen?” she challenged, standing a little taller and crossing her arms.

“Because I bloody well warned you that he would be nothing but trouble!” Draco said, his eyes flashing angrily. “I should string him up by his tail and feed him to Henri’s alligator!”

“Absolutely not! He can’t help that he is an animal, driven by animalistic needs—like hunting!”

“Well, I’m not sure it was much of a hunt. He’s licking Eugene’s blood out of his chops as we speak!” he spat angrily.

“How did Crookshanks even get into the house? He’s been running the land since he got here!” Hermione reasoned.

Draco threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know, Granger. It could have been anyone of the five billion people we have living on top of us! Someone could have left the door open for a split second and the little demon could have just slipped right in.”

“That is ridiculous,” she rolled her eyes as he dug once more at his Mark, stinging uncomfortably.

“Why, because it’s your beast on the victorious side?” he hissed. “I don’t know if you’ve seen Eugene lately, but he was all of half a pound. It was hardly a fair fight!”

She jabbed her finger into his chest and he rocked on the balls of his feet as he grabbed her wrist. “Don’t poke me, Granger.”

Hermione could feel the energy in the air shifting and she could feel the pent-up energy flowing within her. “Don’t touch me, Malfoy.”

He dropped her wrist. “Are you going to hex me?” he asked, filling the space between them.

“I will if you keep tempting me,” she replied, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go clean up a mess.”

“Leave it, Weasley is cleaning his wing from the floor—all that was left of him.”

Hermione furrowed her brow and leaned back. “What do you mean?”

“The only thing that was left of him was his wing. I wish this fucking Mark would just stop already,” he said, lifting his arm to scratch at it again.

“Draco…kneazles can’t digest bone…” she said, brandishing her wand and looking around them.

Draco opened his mouth to argue but instead swore. “Fuck. That bitch, LeRoux, killed my dragon! There is absolutely no way she got past the wards this time. She must have some kind of likeness of Eugene, too…she must have seen him when I was attacked!”

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay…next chapter, I swear we’ll see Ginny go undercover. Natalie is really fucking with Draco where it hurts now…next to Hermione, Eugene was the one thing he loved most.
> 
> Please review! I’d love to hear your theories!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m not abandoning this, guys. These two deserve the wedding I have planned for the last chapter. These two are my favorite Draco and Hermione of the twenty plus stories I’ve written. I’m just sad knowing it’s ending soon. This story, from word one of Fire and Ice, has been important to me, but I just don’t have it in me to do a third installment.

“Just put it in your ear, Gin,” Harry said, handing her a small flesh colored bead.

“I don’t want you in my head all day!” she said impatiently, pulling her now blond locks into a high, tidy bun.

“Ginevra, I need to know the layout and every interaction you have with her. Put the Extra Ear in your ear.”

Ginny took the bead from Harry and shoved it into her ear canal, where she felt it expand and fit against the walls. “You’re sure you can’t see it,” she said, trying to turn her head to check.

“No. And only you’ll be able to hear my voice. Impressive piece of magic George came up with,” Harry said, putting one in his ear as well.

Theo was watching the pair from a desk chair in the guest room where he and Ginny were staying. He had started working for the removal agency the day after the “miniscura incident.” Though it had creeped him out pretty significantly in the beginning to touch and handle bodies, it had afforded him the opportunity to enter LeRoux’s funeral home a few times already. He was waiting for the opportunity to be able to go in at night, when there wasn’t a soul in sight. He needed to suss out what kind of wards and protective magic the LeRoux’s most certainly had protecting the perimeter. The funeral home couldn’t possibly have an exclusion ward on it, with the sheer number of people that went in and out on a daily basis, but Theo couldn’t shake the feeling that they were hiding something there.

“It’s really a shame the Imperious is an Unforgivable. We could just watch everything transpiring in real time,” Theo commented, leaning back in his chair.

Harry whipped around and Ginny looked at him in the mirror, her hands stopping their smoothing of her hair for a brief moment. “Have you gone mad?” Harry demanded.

Theo put both hands up. “Hey…once the son of a Death Eater, always the son of a Death Eater. I’m simply saying, it would simplify things.”

“That’s not happening,” Ginny replied.

“I agree…but Gin, I would like to be able to watch your memories in a Pensieve later, to actually see what the interior looks like,” Harry said, turning his glare from Theo.

“And, what if we’re wrong? What if this poppet is in her house?” Ginny asked, straightening her suit coat and stepping into a pair of heels.

“It’s not. Draco felt his Mark burn yesterday while he was standing in the cemetery. At the same time, I was at LeRoux’s dropping someone off to them. She was there. It’s in that funeral home, somewhere…I can feel the Dark Magic.”

Harry looked at him once more. “I bet you can.”

Theo narrowed his eyes, snapping his chair’s front legs back to the floor with a slam. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, an underlying edge to his tone.

“Like you said, once a Death Eater always a Death Eater.”

“My father was the Death Eater. Perhaps you haven’t had the chance to see my delectably impeccable forearms, but they remain Mark free,” Theo retorted.

“Speaking of which,” Ginny said, looking between the two, “it concerns me how Draco’s mood shifts so irrationally and angrily when his Mark starts burning. You don’t think he’d…hurt Hermione do you?”

Theo rolled his eyes. “Not a chance in hell. He loves her with everything he has. Doesn’t mean he won’t yell and whine and moan, though.”

Ginny sighed and Harry handed her a mobile phone. “Carry this. You remember how to send a text message?”

“Yes,” Ginny replied impatiently.

“If there is anything at all you cannot say aloud, you text it to me,” Harry said.

“I remember the drill.”

Theo was watching the pair interact, the subtle hints at still caring for one another—Harry touched her arm as he spoke, she seemed to melt a little when he trained his emerald eyes on her. He pushed his hands into his pockets and felt the letter from Daphne Greengrass that he had received before they left for America. She had admitted to being wrong, that she was simply afraid of settling down so soon. Theo hadn’t responded—things had been going fairly well with the redhead. But even he couldn’t deny that there was a strong chemistry between she and Potter. He thought of Daphne for a brief moment and felt a sharp pang in his chest as he twisted his signet ring on its finger.

Ginny grabbed her car keys and bag and bent over to give Theo a kiss to the cheek. “Be careful,” he told her, standing to follow her down.

The two men stood side by side on the porch and watched her drive away. Theo pulled Daphne’s letter from his pocket and handed it to Harry. Harry furrowed his brow. “What’s this?”

“Read it.”

Harry’s eyes skimmed over the letter and he handed it back to Theo. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Potter, I’ve been seeing Ginny for two months…but I’m not you. And she’s not Daph. It’s that simple.”

Harry clenched and unclenched his jaw, crossing his arms. A bead of sweat formed over his brow, the hot late summer sun unrelenting in Louisiana. “So, you’re just going to give up?”

Theo shrugged. “Did you know that Granger and I once tried to give it a go? Even went on a date.”

Harry laughed at that. “This story gets more and more preposterous the more I hear. I mean…Hermione and Malfoy? You and Hermione? You and Ginny? I am never going away again.”

“You missed a lot. But Draco and Hermione…they’re good for each other. They push while the other pulls and neither takes shit from the other. I never thought Draco would find someone he wanted to make a life with after Parkinson died…”

Harry put his hands in to the pockets of his jeans. “You never think about the other side losing people they loved, too.”

“That’s exactly what Granger said.”

o-o-o

“You must be Amelia. I’m Natalie LeRoux. My father owns this place!” a bubbly auburn-haired girl said, extended her hand.

“That’s me, Amelia Harris,” Ginny said, hoping her American accent was convincing enough.

“Why aren’t you in the program yet?” Natalie asked, leading Ginny into an office.

After much protesting on her part, the group had collectively agreed that Ginny would not need to attend school. She was to tell everyone that she’d missed enrollment because she was visiting an ill family member in Germany and that she’d be enrolling in the spring. Natalie seemed to buy into her lie.

They entered a room and there were a few individuals gathered there. “Everyone this is Amelia Harris. Daddy hired her as our newest apprentice.”

Everyone gave her a cordial wave. “Amelia, this is Eric, Suzanna and my brother, Nathaniel.”

Ginny gave her politest smile, eyeing Nathaniel a little longer than the others, that way when Harry looked at her memories later, he’d have a clear picture. “I’m happy to be joining your team.”

“Why don’t we have a look around?” Natalie asked and she led Ginny from room to room.

Ginny felt nauseated in the presence of bodies and she hoped they could find the poppet before she had to actually touch them. “I did these two up myself,” Natalie was saying, gesturing to two open caskets in their holding room, occupied by two elderly women.

“Nice work,” Ginny forced, a smile on her features.

“I’m the best we have…but what can I say? It runs in my bloodline, you know?” she flipped her auburn waves over her shoulder.

As she continued to boast on herself, an idea came to Ginny. She was here to find the poppet, yes. But why not try to hurt the bint where it hurt most—her business? Natalie turned to leave, leading them out. Ginny slid her wand from her waist band at her back and flicked it as swiftly as she could and replaced it. She quickly closed the door behind her and followed Natalie down.

o-o-o

Ginny followed Natalie to the preparation room after a few exhausting and morbid hours of extremely detailed stories of precarious situations they’d pulled deceased individuals from. She was thoroughly nauseated and turned off from eating the lunch they’d ordered in.

Ginny nearly sobbed when she heard Theo’s booming American accent as they entered the room. “Hey, new guy. This is our new girl,” Natalie said, waving between the two.

Theo looked at Ginny, who admittedly looked a little green around the gills, and grinned widely. “Jeremy,” he said, extending a hand.

“Amelia.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied, going to the cabinet to retrieve a fresh body bag.

“So, Jeremy,” Natalie started, not wanting to be outshone by the new girl, “I hear you just moved here from a ways up north?”

Theo looked at her and raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t had to do much to glamour his looks—the press back home hadn’t taken many pictures of him and he wasn’t easily recognizable. “That’s right. Connecticut.”

“Ah…our very own little Yankee transplant. Well, if you’d like to get better acquainted with everything the South has to offer, I’d love to show you around New Orleans some time,” Natalie said, smiling demurely at him.

Theo put on his most charming smile, but Ginny could see how strained it was. “I’d like that Miss LeRoux.”

Ginny heard Harry snort in her ear and smiled to herself. Theo bowed with embellished charm at both girls and gestured to his stretcher. “I really need to be going. See you next time, ladies.”

They watched him retreat and Natalie closed the garage door after he left, reentering the prep room. “My God, that boy is delicious!”

Ginny only nodded once and she heard Harry’s voice in her ear. “What’s behind that door over by the chemicals cabinet?”

Ginny hadn’t even noticed the door, so caught up in the horrors the rest of the room had to offer. “Natalie, where does that door lead?”

“Oh, that? A supply closet…nothing significant,” she shrugged, writing something down on a form Ginny should probably have been paying attention to.

Ginny went to try the door and was met with a locked handle and a slight jolt. “Daddy keeps it locked,” Natalie said. “To keep people from stealing.”

Ginny nodded. Her left foot. There was more than formaldehyde behind those doors. “We need access to that room.”

“I know,” Ginny whispered.

“What was that?” Natalie asked, taking her leave from the room.

“I said, ‘oh.’”

It was about this time that loud voices started to carry through the air toward them. “That is not my mother!” a woman’s voice shrieked.

Ginny and Natalie rounded the corner and Ginny had to keep from grinning as she watched the scene unfold. Her plan had worked perfectly. There was a woman and man in the hall, the woman in tears and the man angrily poking Mr. LeRoux in the shoulder. “I don’t know who that is, but that is not my mother-in-law! You all had better sort this out immediately!”

“Natalie, please take Mr. and Mrs. Harvey to an office.”

“I don’t want to go to a damn office!” the woman wailed. “What did you do with my mother?”

“Gin…you didn’t!” Harry’s voice came through, laughing.

“It’s a simple fix…Mrs. Harvey’s mother is in the other casket…no harm, no foul…except to Natalie and the LeRoux’s business,” Ginny whispered back.

“I told you we should have went to Bastien-Beaumont! Virgil Bastien runs a proper funeral home!” the woman was now screaming at her husband.

“Looks like Henri’s business will pick up.”

“Go on home, Amelia,” Mr. LeRoux said before pulling a returning Natalie into a room to interrogate her on her ‘mistake.’

Ginny nearly ran out of the building.

o-o-o

Draco went to let Henri and Adam into the wards surrounding the house. “What’s this all about?”

“Turn on de t.v. LeRoux in so much trouble!” Henri was positively gleeful as he jogged up the stairs.

He went into the home, giving the lady of the house a kiss on the cheek. “My dearest Hermynee. I brought yuh uh bottle of Louisiana’s fiiinest wine,” he said, brandishing the bottle and handing it to her.

Adam rolled his eyes and leaned in to give Hermione a hug. “Hey, Hermione.”

Henri marched to the television and turned it to the local news station. “Apparently, LeRoux done pissed off uh fam’ly. They all ovuh de news ‘bout it.”

Everyone sat around the couches, with Harry standing behind them with his arms crossed. When the commercials ended, the news anchor came back on. “Now, for the story we’ve been telling you about all evening…a local funeral home…”

A reporter was standing outside of LeRoux’s funeral home with the family in question. They watched as the story unfolded, how the funeral home had switched bodies on accident and then tried to cover their tracks. It ended with the family stating that they’d been in contact with their lawyer. When the news switched to a story of a local parking ticket debacle, Henri flipped the television back off.

“Heeheeeeee!” he squealed with unabashed delight at his opposition’s misfortune. “LeRoux done fuh!”

“What do you mean? I’m sure accidents happen all the time!” Hermione said, skeptical.

Adam grinned widely. “You don’t know who that is do you?”

The others all shook their heads. “Da’s Eileen and Everard Harvey. He’s a state senator. And dey mixed up de bodies!”

“How unfortunate,” Hermione said, smiling slightly.

Draco was silent. “I mean…if an accident like that could happen, it could happen to any of us, right?”

“Not exactly,” Ginny spoke up.

Harry was grinning widely as she relayed her story. When she finished talking, Henri draped an arm over her shoulders. “Girl, I owe yuh big time fuh dis! Dey gon’ be dragged t’rough de mud up one side and down de udduh.”

“To be honest, I didn’t know it was the senator’s mother-in-law. I just figured I would slowly start sabotaging them from the inside…”

“At least now, trying to cover this mess up, she won’t have as much time to harm Malfoy,” Harry commented, placing a hand on Ginny’s shoulder.

“Dat remind me. Draygo. I brought yuh some swamp mud and leaves,” Henri said, putting a finger up and then digging into his bag.

“Why, thank you, Henri. It’s just what I’ve always wanted,” Draco said, grinning.

“Smart ass. It’s for your Mark. This shit could spackle the porch to the house, but it’ll soak into the skin and heal you from the inside,” Adam remarked.

Henri gestured toward the kitchen. “Come on. We get yuh started now. I know yuh been worried ‘bout dat tempuh.”

This much was true, he had worried immensely about his temper’s resurgence when the Mark began to burn. “I think Natalie is trying to destroy Hermione and I’s relationship. Something she is doing drives me to be insanely angry. It’s affecting my relationship with my witch—we’ve barely spoken since we argued about Eugene.”

“She’s using some Old World Dark magick straight outta de medieval times. She t’ink you a blood-traituh, so she probably gon’ try an’ eliminate de unworthy blood. Hermynee need tuh be careful,” Henri said, pulling bottles of swamp water out of his bag.

He instructed Draco to take his shirt off and the blond complied, biting his lip as he thought of what she could possibly do to Hermione. “We need to find that poppet. And fast.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Bu’ T’eo gon’ figure out what in dat room. It’s gotta be dere.”

Draco looked out of the bay kitchen window out into the back yard where Theo was crouched in the dirt with Narcissa, assisting her in planting some flowers. Theo had never known his mother, and Narcissa had filled that spot wonderfully for so long. “He’s uh good man, tuh come all de way heuh and do dis fuh yuh,” Henri said, using the swamp water as an astringent over Draco’s Mark.

Draco felt the Mark tingle in the same way a foot feels when it falls asleep. “He’s my brother more than my friend.”

“Like Adam and me,” Henri said, gesturing absently to the living room, where they could hear Adam, Harry and Ginny discussing Quidditch.

Draco nodded. He didn’t hear Hermione’s voice participating and it didn’t take long for him to realize where she’d gone. Her petite frame was moseying into the back garden toward his brother and mother. Theo leaned up on his knees and Hermione leaned down to ruffle his hair. Henri began applying the mud, cold and thick with a foul odor. “That reeks,” he commented, wrinkling his nose.

“Sorry I didn’ have time tuh get you the swamp mud from beneath de rose bushes,” Henri replied, rolling his eyes.

“Where did you learn so much healing magic?” Draco asked, his Mark going completely numb.

“My aunts—my mom’s sistuhs. Dey all voodoo priestesses, with an emphasis on healin’ magic,” he said with a shrug.

“We could have used you during the War,” Draco mused and immediately cringed.

“On which side?” Henri asked, an eyebrow raised.

“The winning side, obviously,” Draco said quickly. “Every Death Eater in the Dark Lord’s inner circle could have bled out slowly for all I cared.”

Henri looked at the blond wizard for a moment and sighed. “Draygo, you got to learn tuh let t’ings go. Move on and quit beatin’ yuhself up. What happened, happened.”

Draco pursed his lips. What did this wizard know? The War hadn’t met him on his bayou. Henri continued as he wrapped a long banana tree leaf around the mud. “Yuh got yuhself a beautiful girl, great friends,” he gestured to himself as though to say ‘obviously’, “a bangin’ house, a decent job, and life is good. We gon’ catch LeRoux and she gon’ pay…all the way to Kellensworth Prison.”

The banana leaf was soaked in some kind of strong tonic that made Draco’s nose burn. “I hope so.”

o-o-o

Hermione went outside to escape the talk of Quidditch. She didn’t care that the United States had a new Seeker. She made her way to where Narcissa and Theo were digging and planting in the dirt. “What are you up to?” she asked, ruffling Theo’s hair.

“I went and bought these. I’ve got to start getting these gardens in shape now if I’m going to have it ready for a wedding in December!” Narcissa said, handing Hermione a few moving photographs of trees.

“There’s no way you have time to plant Magnolia trees in two months,” Hermione said, looking at another page of roses and one of hydrangeas.

“My dear, do not underestimate what a little hard work, a whole lot of magic, and an abundant blessing from Mother Earth can provide. These gardens will be absolutely enchanting by the wedding. I also stopped in and spoke to the gentleman in the magical gardens department about your gazebo.”

Theo snorted and then turned it into a cough when Narcissa swatted him. Hermione narrowed her eyes. “What gazebo?”

Narcissa looked at her and then at Theo, whom she swatted again. “Didn’t you and Draco tell her anything about the ceremony?”

“What ceremony?” she asked.

“On that note,” Theo stood, “I’m going to head inside…I need to have a talk with Gin before I shower for work.”

“Coward,” Narcissa mumbled under her breath, turning her magic-imbued spade back to the earth.

“What ceremony, Mrs. Malfoy?” Hermione asked again, tired of all the damn Slytherin antics taking place in her house.

“Hermione, calm down, dear. Here, turn some soil, it’ll make you feel better,” she replied, handing Hermione the spade Theo had been using.

“A traditional pureblood handfasting ceremony typically ends in consummation of the marriage,” Narcissa stated.

Hermione thought about it. So did most Muggle wedding nights. So, what wasn’t she telling her? “And?”

“In the open air, effectively uniting as one as Mother Moon and the stars look on, as Mother Earth supports you with promises of fertility and fruitful womb,” Narcissa said, her voice sounding fond as though she were remembering her own consummation ceremony.

Hermione looked at her incredulously. “So…we’re supposed to just…with everyone nearby?”

“A reception is for the guests. No one will expect you to be in attendance for that. The time after the handfasting ceremony is important to join hearts and bodies as one, to set the tone for your marriage.”

“So everyone is just going to know what we’re doing?” Hermione asked, horrified.

Narcissa leaned up on her haunches. “Quit being such a prude, Miss Granger. It is a beautiful moment for a newlywed couple. I can assure you, you will be utterly alone together and no one will mind a bit.”

“Mrs. Malfoy…Draco and I…we’ve…” Hermione could feel her cheeks burning as she looked at an earthworm wiggling in the soil.

“I’m old, not stupid, dear. None of that will matter. The Lunar ritual will cleanse you and wash away all impurities. The union will be just as strong as if you’d abstained,” Narcissa said with a wave of her hand. “Now, fill me in on Ginny’s day. I’m itching to burn this witch LeRoux.”

Hermione felt like she would die a proper death, discussing sex with Narcissa Malfoy and was grateful for the subject change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: All those sneaky Slytherins…and Ginny. Yikes. And Theo…who forgot Harry had a direct line to Ginny while he and Nott were talking…
> 
> Thank you for the love you’ve shown this story. Please review!


	22. Chapter 22

“Okay, Potter. I’m in the building,” Theo spoke, the Extra Ear nestled safely in his own ear.

It had taken five incredibly long nights for Theo to finally get a call to respond and remove a body for the LeRoux’s. Their negative press in the news had put a hamper on their business and they were guarded about who could enter their building. He’d received the call from their answering service and nearly sprang out of bed, adrenaline rushing through him. The time he spent removing the deceased individual from the hospital was a blur to him as he rushed to get to the funeral home.

No one spent the night at the funeral home, which surprised him as Henri, Adam and Calypso all took turns spending the night at Bastien-Beaumont. There was a hum of Dark magic in the air, his life experiences attuning him to it. His father’s specialty within the Dark Lord’s circle had been breaking through wards—the only one that had stumped him had been the one surrounding Hogwarts. Theo had picked up some tips and tricks over his lifetime, his father wanting to prepare him to join the ranks—despite his son’s never-ending protests. Theo ran a hand over his chest as he thought of the torture he’d endured at the hands of his father for arguing against learning his Dark ways. Never did he think this particular skill would actually serve a purpose for him.

He went into the prep room and slipped to the back, where Ginny had indicated the door was. He noticed that after her inquiry, Natalie or her brother had moved the chemicals cabinet to rest in front of the door. He rolled his eyes. Amateurs. He placed a feather light charm on it and slid it carefully to the side, not wanting to break any of the bottles within.

Theo lifted a hand and ran it along the door, the vibrations of Dark magic coursing through his hands. “There is definitely something strange going on here. Their wards are blood wards, but they’re sloppily put together. For being the Malfoys of the American South, they aren’t nearly as skilled in Dark magic.”

“That seems strange…Natalie is obviously skilled in some kind of medieval magic, though.”

“Maybe they don’t expect someone to be creeping through their funeral home,” Theo supplied as an explanation.

He was running through every spell he knew, his wand dragging repeatedly over the wood door. “If every family is related through Solomon, then my blood should get me through the blood ward.”

“Be careful. This feels too convenient.”

Theo had to agree with Harry. There was something off about how simple this all was going and that thought made the hair on his arms stand up. He pricked his finger and a few drops fell to the floor in front of the door. He reached out and with an ‘Alohomora’ the door clicked open. “I’m in.”

“What’s in there?”

Theo raised his wand, the end illuminated. There was a large wooden desk with a large board behind it. It appeared to be a map of the United States, and there were tiny glowing dots speckled all over it. “I have no idea. A map of some kind.”

“A map?”

“Of America. There’s dots all over the States, though…and a desk.”

“Go through the desk, Nott.”

Theo stepped around the back of the desk and looked more closely at the map, trying to take in ever dot so Potter could see it later in the Pensieve. “You should have Imperiused me, like I said. There are hundreds of dots all over, marking something.”

“Nott,” his voice was warning him not to go down this road again.

Theo turned and ran his wand over the desk drawers, spilling a few drops of blood to pop them open. Inside, he found leather ledgers. “There’s some kind of leather bound books.”

He opened them and saw last names, locations, dates and amounts. Alongside each, the abbreviation for different kinds of dragons. Jericho. Twenty thousand. Los Angeles. July 30th. Horntail v. Opal Eye “Oh, fuck, Potter. They’re running a dragon fighting ring. It’s a listing of bets and wagers!”

“Copy them!”

Theo tapped his wand on the three books and created exact replicas. He was digging through the drawer opposite when he heard the last noise anyone would want to hear in an empty building filled with dead bodies: footsteps on tile. “Fuck, Potter. Fuck! Someone’s here,” he whispered, panic rising as he lifted his wand.

He grabbed up the three books and stuffed them into the band of his pants, moving quickly to the door and extinguishing the light at the end of his wand. He slipped out of the door into the dark prep room, sliding the chemicals cabinet back into place. He wasn’t nearly as careful as he had been moving it away, and three bottles toppled and shattered at his feet, dousing his legs in formaldehyde.

The lights above clicked on and a male voice sounded behind him. “Theodore Nott. Didn’t expect you here. Ginny Weasley, maybe. Harry Potter even. But not you.”

Theo whipped around and Nathaniel LeRoux was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a bored look on his face, his wand drawn but not threatening. Theo did the most logical thing he could think of in that moment and Apparated the hell out of the prep room and back to Draco and Hermione’s home.

He landed and stumbled into the living room. Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, a pensieve already out in front of him. “We’ve been found out!”

“How did he know?” Harry said, his voice strained.

Theo shrugged, tossing the books onto the table top. “Potter, I don’t know what the hell we’ve stumbled into, but they are fighting dragons on top of trying to recruit an army of purebloods.”

Theo’s reentry into the home woke the others, and Draco and Hermione both came down the stairs, Narcissa and Ginny not far behind. “What happened?” Draco asked, his voice thick with sleep.

“I got a call to go pick up a body for the LeRoux’s.”

“And you didn’t wake us?” Ginny said, looking between Harry and Theo accusingly.

“What did you find?” Hermione asked, stepping in front of Draco almost protectively. “Did you find the poppet?”

Theo shook his head. “No. But I did find a map with a bunch of lit up dots and three books worth of names that I’m fairly certain will line up with the map. They’re running a dragon fighting ring and taking bets.”

“What?” Draco asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” Theo said, opening the top book on the table.

The others gathered around him. “What the hell does this all have to do with me? Why are they trying to create an army of Dark wizards and running a dragon fighting ring?” Draco yelled, frustrated.

“Calm down, Draco. You’ll cause yourself to get a headache,” Narcissa said, touching her son’s arm.

“Mother, this is worse than the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters. At least we had some insight into his mentality and plans. We have no idea what these people are doing!” he spat, pacing and pulling at his hair.

Narcissa pursed her lips and moved to make a pot of tea, adding some chamomile to calm him. Hermione pulled out a chair. “Sit, love. Don’t get yourself even more stressed.”

“It’s only a matter of time before Nathaniel tells Natalie that I was there! She’s going to take it out on him again!” Theo said, gesturing to Draco.

“Nathaniel saw you? He still thinks your Jeremy from Connecticut, right?” Ginny asked.

“No. He knew my name! He knew all of us. He knows we’re all here,” Theo replied.

“How?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know!”

“The blood wards. I told you it was too convenient!” Harry replied.

“But he knew about you and Ginny both. Only my blood was spilled. And he wouldn’t expect me and Ginny to be dating. She looks nothing like herself. But he knew!”

“Call Henri,” Harry and Hermione said at the same time.

Hermione left the room to call him and it was only a few moments later that he arrived, dressed in sweat pants and nothing else. “Wha’ happen?”

“The LeRoux’s know who we are,” Draco told him, panic rising like bile in the back of his throat.

Theo told the story and Henri was frowning. “Dey too smart fo’ dis. Dose wards bein’ so weak was no mistake. Dey mus’ have wanted to catch yuh.”

“Then why didn’t he attack Theo when he had the chance?” Ginny asked, moving to the window to peer out as though just speaking of them would bring a coven of LeRoux’s to the house.

Henri shook his head. “I don’ know. Dis whole t’ing weird.”

“Natalie is going to take this out on Draco again! Theo couldn’t find the poppet,” Hermione told him, worry evident in her voice.

“T’eo and Harry, we will watch the perimeter fo’ tuhnight. The rest uh yuh go back tuh bed, ain’t no use panicking tuhnight.”

“How do you expect me to sleep when someone is trying to harm my husband?” Hermione shrieked and Narcissa came up behind where the younger witch was standing behind Draco, her hands holding his shoulders protectively.

“Draygo, stay fo’ uh moment so I can check yuh Mark,” Henri instructed.

“Hermione, let’s go upstairs. We’ll have a spot of tea and I can draw you a bath. Worrying is not going to help anything,” Narcissa told her.

Draco looked over his shoulder at her. “Go on. I’ll be up in a bit.”

Hermione gripped his shoulders even tighter. “I’m not leaving you.”

Narcissa put her hands on the younger witch’s arms and gently tried to pry her away from Draco. “Come on, dear. Let’s go upstairs. The men have this handled.”

Ginny looked around at everyone and ran a hand over her face. “This is ridiculous. None of us are going to be able to sleep. I want to fight if they come.”

“You can go upstairs and try. If they blow the side of the house off, go ahead and come down,” Harry told her.

She looked as though she wanted to argue, but both Harry and Theo were looking at her, begging with their eyes for her to comply. She sighed and left the room, heading up to the room she was now sleeping in alone, since Theo had broken things off.

Draco pulled Hermione’s arm to bring her around in front of him, looking up at her from his chair. “Go with my mother. After Henri looks at my arm, I will be right up.”

She hesitated a moment more. “Don’t take too long. I don’t want you away from me.”

He leaned forward and gave her stomach a gentle kiss. “Ten minutes.”

She ran a hand through his hair and Narcissa took her other hand, levitating a tray with tea and biscuits alongside them as they went upstairs. Draco turned and looked at the other men. “So? What’s our game plan? We’ve got to get the poppet.”

“Hol’ out yuh arm, Draygo,” Henri said, holding out his hand to take Draco’s arm.

He began unwrapping the banana leaf, held in place with a sticking charm. Draco looked over at Theo and Harry. “So?”

“I’m thinking, Malfoy!” Harry said, putting his head into his hands.

Henri finished unwrapping his arm and pulled him to stand and head to the kitchen sink. He ran his arm under warm water, breaking apart the swamp mud. Theo was pacing, obscenities flying from his mouth and Harry was muttering under his breath different spells he had learned to locate Dark objects. Draco watched the mud slide off his arm to reveal a faint white outline where the angry blackened Mark had been. “Henri, what the fuck was in that mud?”

Both Harry and Theo rushed to the sink and Henri’s face split into a wide smile. “Merlin’s saggy ballsack, Bastien. What was in that mud?” Theo asked, running his finger over Draco’s arm.

“I tol’ you. Swamp magic. And…a lil formaldehyde soaked into banana leaves,” he let out a laugh.

“It’s nearly gone!” Harry said, awe evident in his voice.

“I shoulda done dis when yuh firs’ got outta de hospital. But I wanted tuh make sure yuh were strong enough. Plus, Calypso mixed dis special batch,” Henri told him.

Draco clapped a hand on his new friend’s back. “Man…you voodoo folk, mate. You’ve got this healing all figured out.”

“We do it one mo’ time,” he told Draco. “It’ll be completely gone in uh nudduh week. But fo’ now, it shoul’ stop burnin’ an’ affectin’ yuh mood.”

“She can still affect him other ways with that poppet though, right? Like poking him with pins or something?” Harry asked.

Henri nodded. “Could. Bu’ she gotta figure out that his Mark gone firs’.”

“We need to get that doll before then,” Theo said, groaning at their plight.

It was precisely this moment when Draco felt a ripple go through him, setting his nerves on alert. “Someone’s here.”

They all withdrew their wands and immediately headed outside. “Hominem revelio!” there was no one in the surrounding yard.

“Where are they?” Harry asked, scanning as best as he could in the dark night.

They heard the loud crack! of Apparation coming from above their heads as they stood on the porch. Draco ran down the stairs and looked up to find Nathaniel LeRoux, standing behind Hermione, his hand over her mouth, his wand at her throat. “Hermione!” Draco’s loud screech broke through the still night.

Draco, Theo and Harry Apparated immediately to Draco’s room and had to step over the petrified bodies of both Narcissa and Ginny. “Expelliarmus!” Harry bellowed just as Nathaniel sent up a shield.

“I did not come here for a duel. But I will kill her if you do not stop instigating a fight,” Nathaniel said tauntingly.

Draco looked at the two petrified females and the love of his life, clad in only a shirt and underwear for the room of men to see as she clung to Nathaniel’s arm pressed around her throat. “Let her go, then you can tell us why you came here.”

Nathaniel scoffed and tightened his grip around Hermione’s throat, lifting her lightly and he feet dangled for a moment. Draco lunged at them and, with his wand still aimed at Hermione’s throat, Narthaniel wandlessly sent an invisible blow to him. The air was blown completely out of Draco’s lungs as he dropped to his knees. An impressive bit of magic, to have one’s wand and magic aimed in two different directions. Harry moved in front of everyone else as Draco gagged and Theo worked to revive the women. “Drop your wand and let Hermione go, or I will kill you.”

“I will let her go when you all have stopped threatening me. I am here to help with Natalie,” he told them.

They saw Henri Apparate directly behind Nathaniel, somehow silencing himself. He jerked a handful of Nathaniel’s hair back, the element of surprise on his side as Nathaniel let up on Hermione. She rushed to Draco, who pushed her quickly behind himself, his wand raised as Henri thrust the blade of a knife into Nathaniel’s throat and wand to his temple. “Drop yuh wand, now, Nuhtanyal.”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry screeched, not allowing Nathaniel the time any longer.

Nathaniel’s wand flipped out of reach, his head back in Henri’s chest, Henri’s blade causing a faint line of blood at his throat. “How did you get past the wards?” Draco demanded, his wand raised and pointed right between Nathaniel’s eyes.

“You think Nott’s the only ward breaker in the wizarding world?” he said through clenched teeth, Henri’s blade digging a little deeper.

Theo had revived both Ginny and Narcissa, who were sitting up and dazed. “I have the information you need on Natalie,” Nathaniel started again.

Hermione had pulled some pants on quickly and came to stand beside Draco, her wand raised to his chest. Theo, Ginny and Narcissa flanked them from behind, the two latter marginally weakened. “I didn’t come here for a duel. I’m clearly outnumbered.”

“Spit it out, LeRoux. What yuh heuh fuh?” Henri hissed in Nathaniel’s ear.

“Natalie’s poppet is at the funeral home. I’m the only one who knows that you all are here. Natalie and my father both didn’t recognize Theodore Nott or Ginny Weasley. Lure Natalie here, Malfoy. Tell her you found out about the Coterie and want to pledge allegiance to the cause. Tell her that Hermione has went back to England because of the mood swings you’ve experienced. Tell her that your anger has driven her away.”

“Why the fuck would she believe something that stupid?” Draco hissed.

“She’ll be arrogant, thinking she won the battle. Natalie will come to hear you out because she’s been playing with your moods to split you and Granger apart. She wants you to lead the Coterie—she admires the fact that you learned the Darkest magic from the Darkest wizard in the world,” Nathaniel told him.

“What about the poppet?” Hermione asked.

“It’s in the foot panel of the Sycamore casket in the selection room. When she leaves to come here, Weasley, you slip in and take it. Only the person that it’s mimicking can destroy it without destroying themselves, so be careful with it or you could kill Malfoy,” he replied.

“Why should we believe anything you’re saying right now? How do we know this isn’t a set up?” Harry demanded.

“I want her gone. My father, too,” the aurburn-haired man replied, his eyes watering as Henri held him tighter still.

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Theo rasped.

“Who do you think weakened the wards around my father’s office so that there would be no way you could fail?” Nathaniel asked.

The rest eyed him. “What is in this for you?” Narcissa asked. “No one does anything this selfless without cause.”

“My father’s company. He is set to retire next month and it will fall to my sister upon his retirement. She has already been in negotiations with a large conglomerate to sell us off. My father has no idea,” Nathaniel admitted.

“So you’re using us to get back at your father for leaving the company to Natalie?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Essentially. You get what you want—Natalie behind bars, and I what I want—my father’s company. It is win-win.”

“And what if, after Natalie is imprisoned, your father remains as head of the company?” Narcissa asked.

“That’s why I gave you access to his office—he runs illegal dragon fighting rings. You can imprison him as well,” Nathaniel told them with a shrug.

“So you have no loyalty to your family whatsoever. Why should we trust you?” Draco asked, narrowing his eyes at the intruder.

“I have loyalty to the nine-and-a-half million dollar profit my father’s funeral homes, cemeteries and pre-planning company grosses in a year. My father is an evil man, who has used magical creatures, Dark magic and a sliver-tongue to manipulate those around him for decades. And he turned Natalie into just as big a bigot as he. Do away with them both. She’ll no longer be able to harm Draco, he’ll no longer be able to blackmail and loan shark and place wagers on illegal activities and I get control of nearly ten million a year. Everyone wins in this situation.”

“And where do you fit into all of this?” Ginny asked, Harry putting a hand across her to keep her from moving any closer to him.

“She will expect me to come with her. But I will not fight. She will only expect Draco to be here anyway—she doesn’t recognize Ginny or Theo and she will believe Hermione to have fled back to Europe,” Nathaniel replied.

“Fine. But she come tuh my house. Not heuh. I got extra protections ‘round mine,” Henri said, not releasing his grip.

“How will we convince her to go to your house?” Theo asked.

“Bring the poppet to Henri’s. Tell Natalie that Henri kept going on about breaking into the funeral home to find something hidden in a casket. She’ll want to fight him—it’s what she’s been training to do our whole lives, the Leveau bloodline versus the LeRoux bloodline. I’ll keep her busy in the morning so that she doesn’t have time to play with the poppet before Malfoy summons her,” Nathaniel reasoned and Henri’s grip lessened a fraction. “When you all get to Henri’s, rush her. She will feel threatened—she’s a shit dueler—and turn into her Animagus. A red fox. Quick as hell, too.”

“If you uh settin’ us up fuh failure, I will kill yuh and burn de body in my crematory, LeRoux. Dat’s uh promise,” Henri told him, tossing him to his knees away from him.

Nathaniel coughed and held the shallow cut across his neck. “I want my father’s company. I told you. I’ve got nine-and-a-half million reasons every year not to lie to you all.”

“And how did you recognize us?” Theo asked, prodding him harshly in the shoulder with his wand.

“Funny thing about Squibs—they can’t use magic,” Nathaniel said with a small smirk.

“What did yuh do tuh Adam?” Henri said, leaning down over Nathaniel and lifting his shirt in both fists.

“Calm yourself. I gave him a little veritaserum and a quick obliviation one day in the hallway at the mortuary school. He doesn’t even remember the conversation—but he certainly had quite a bit to say with regards to Malfoy’s house guests.”

“Get your fucking arse off my balcony. Ginny will be there tomorrow, same as always. We will enact this plan of yours. But you make me fucking sick—your lack of loyalty to your own family is nauseating,” Draco spat at him.

Retrieving his wand from where it had flipped to, Nathaniel Apparated away from the home, leaving the rest bewildered and on edge. They ran through the plan repeatedly until it was seared into every one of their brains, all of them reluctant to trust Nathaniel, but without much choice.

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I had to cut the revenge chapter in half. Natalie is going to get what she has coming to her, next chapter. Let’s jus’ say, Henri’s lil “Sassy” gon’ have uh real goo’ time.
> 
> Please review! And thank you for the love already shown!


	23. Chapter 23

Draco sat in his Thanatochemistry class at the mortuary school and stared in Natalie’s direction. He hadn’t used Legilimency in a while, but he slipped right back into it as he stared at her perfectly curled auburn hair. “Meet me at your hearse after school.”

Natalie turned her head in his direction and raised an eyebrow. “Hermione’s gone. Mudblood ran back to England.”

Draco saw the corners of her mouth twitch as she nodded once in his direction. His nerves were all on end as he sat through the rest of the class, trying to concentrate on the intricacies of cellular death in the human body. All he could think about was Hermione being held by Nathaniel the night before, the uneasy feeling that he was leading them all into danger. Ginny had gone into work at the funeral home and she no doubt had already secured the poppet and made it back to Henri’s.

Nathaniel, true to his word, kept Natalie preoccupied throughout lunch by offering their services in the embalming lab, rendering her incapable of sneaking over to the funeral home in search of poppet play.

By the time school let out, Draco was vibrating with the anxiety and adrenaline rushing through him. He hadn’t been in a duel since the War and he didn’t fancy getting into one now, no matter how they outnumbered LeRoux. All it took was one skillfully sent curse and Natalie could take the one thing in his life he cared about—Hermione. And he wouldn’t be able to go on with life if she weren’t in it.

He tried the night before to convince her to stay home, to let him fight because this was his battle. But the damn stubborn Gryffindor, she got right in his face and jabbed him with her finger, telling him how they were in this together and that she’d be damned if she was going to sit at home, worrying. Draco didn’t even know why he’d bothered.

He saw Natalie perched on the hood of her father’s hearse, examining her nails lazily. When she saw him approaching, her face spread into a wide grin. “Draco,” her usual sing-songy demeanor as present as ever, “I have to say, I’m surprised you reached out to me.”

“You made a poppet of me,” he stated, forming his face into an impressed half-smile as he nodded. “I’m very impressed. It takes talent to master the Dark Arts, but even more talent to perfect a technique that allows you to tamper with someone else’s life from afar.”

“I may not have trained under the Dark Lord, but I know a thing or two,” she replied haughtily, obviously pleased with his praise.

“I doubt the Dark Lord could have ever thought of something this clever. If he had, Potter would have been defeated long before he discovered the Horcruxes,” he replied, giving her a dashing smile.

“How did you find out about it?” she asked.

“Honestly? I’m not nearly intelligent enough to have some up with this on my own. Henri, in all his backwoods voodoo shit, told me of a voodoo doll of you he was intending to create. I did a little digging and came across your poppet magic in a book back at the Manor when I visited my mother last. The problem with my Mark was the telltale sign,” Draco shrugged, smiling his wide charming smile as though having such Dark things happen to him hadn’t ruined his life. “I have to say, killing my dragon was a nice touch.”

Natalie was grinning. “I knew you’d be intrigued by my use of Dark magic. It just took a little time and coercion. One doesn’t train so thoroughly in the Dark Arts only to abandon it completely.”

Draco felt nauseated—that was exactly what he’d done. “The Mudblood couldn’t take it. My anger and mood became too much for her; my obsession with trying to read up on poppet magic. She accused me of slipping right back into my old ways—though, she’s not far off.”

“It’s a fairly complicated bit of magic, to extract someone else’s magic through a simple touch,” she beamed, like a child showing off a school project.

“You’re a very talented witch, Miss LeRoux. I think I could learn a thing or two from you,” Draco told her, leaning on the hearse’s hood next to her.

Draco knew then that he had her, his charm and sex appeal had drawn her in. “My mother also told me something very interesting about how all of us Pureblooded families came to be.”

“King Solomon. The wisest man—wizard—to ever live,” she said with another smile.

At this moment, Nathaniel came out of the school and ambled up to them. “Fucking Briggs is going to fail me if I don’t turn in that paper on embalming chemicals,” he told Natalie. “Malfoy,” he said as a greeting.

“LeRoux,” Draco replied.

“Draco here was just telling me how he came to find out about King Solomon,” Natalie told her twin.

“Is that so? Coming back to pay with the big dogs again, Malfoy?”

“He’s going to lead us,” Natalie corrected.

“Lead you how?” Draco asked. “In the Coterie?”

“Absolutely. How much do you know of the group?” Natalie asked him.

“Not a whole lot,” Draco lied. “Just that it’s a group of Purebloods all stemming from Solomon. And that you all uphold our main values of blood purity and procreation within the Pureblood population.”

“Values I wasn’t so sure you held anymore, seeing as Hermione Granger was sporting quite the engagement ring,” Nathaniel stated.

Draco pretended to be ashamed. “I learned my lesson quickly. She was no upstanding woman. She lacked both grace and couth.”

“I’ll credit your lack in judgment as stemming from losing the War,” Natalie commented.

“I was trying to save face in the wizarding community. Make my family respected once more. I was merely using her status to further my own,” Draco told them, feeling his heart tearing with the lie.

“And where did the little whore run off to?” Natalie asked and Draco felt his blood boil.

Keeping his façade calm, he replied. “To her parents in London.”

“Well…that solves that problem,” she chimed, looking far too happy.

How naïve could one person be? A little sweet talking from a good-looking man and she was putty in his hands? “We have a bigger problem. Bastien found out about the poppet the day my dragon died. He was hell bent on finding this poppet, to study up on how it was constructed—he was heading your way last night to look for it.”

Natalie’s gaze shot to her twin. “I thought you said no one was there when you went to check.”

“There wasn’t,” he replied.

“Get in,” she spat at her brother. “Draco, follow along.”

She slammed the door to her hearse and tore out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell. Draco got into his car and followed along, driving at record speed behind her. They arrived at the LeRoux’s and he got out and followed them into the funeral home, noting randomly that the interior of their funeral home was far more polished but significantly less homey. Natalie led them straight into the casket selection room and threw open the foot end of the Sycamore casket. The sound that tore out of her chest would rival the screech of any Harpy.

“Nathaniel, you fucking idiot! Obviously Bastien has been here!” she screamed and Nathaniel bristled under her glare.

“I can assure you, no one was here when I got here.”

“We need to get that doll! If he starts poking around on it, he could kill Draco!” she told him.

“Well why don’t we head to the Bastien’s? Even if his wife is around, they’d still be outnumbered. Not to mention, their back-country training lacks finesse in a duel,” Nathaniel said, and Draco saw him adjust the collar of his shirt where Henri’s knife had sliced clear into his skin the night before.

Draco thought about how wrong these Americans were. They were arrogant and underestimated how powerful Henri and his voodoo truly was. He was impressively powerful and dueled, not only with wand, but with a touch of No-Maj military style stealthy attacks. He had snuck up on Nathaniel and secured him with a knife to his throat in no time at all.

“I’m in agreeance. I’d like to get the poppet away from him before I end up dead,” Draco joked, his own heart beginning to hammer in his chest.

Natalie took their hands and gave an evil, wicked smile as she side-along Apparated them to the bayou. Draco looked around the perimeter and didn’t see any of his friends, but he knew they were around and watching them. He looked at Nathaniel for any sign that he would betray them. He looked at Draco and gave one subtle nod. “Shall we split up? Surround the house so they have nowhere to go?”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Draco, you are deft at controlling Fiendfyre, right?” Natalie asked.

Draco looked to her and nodded, scared out of his fucking mind at the prospect of burning Henri’s house to the ground to further this façade. She smiled smugly. “You really are something,” she told him, looking as though his ability with the Dark Arts appealed to her much more than it should have.

“Thanks,” he replied with a smile he hoped was more sexy than anxious.

“We’ll burn them out of we have to,” Natalie said in a matter-of-fact manner. “Nathaniel, break through these wards. Ignorant hicks can’t even set strong enough barriers to protect themselves.”

Nathaniel began muttering spells under his breath, each one weakening the wards surrounding Henri’s cabin and the surrounding swamp. Draco looked up and watched as the warm wind rustled through the Spanish moss. There was no wind anywhere else—it was a sign from Theo that they were ready.

Nathaniel gave a triumphant smile when the ward gave a final weak shimmer and fell completely. “Nathaniel, go around back. Natalie, you cover that side of the house and I’ll watch the front,” Draco instructed.

They snuck around to their respective stations and Draco went up the stairs to knock on the door. “Henri—it’s me, Draco. I was wondering if you had the notes from class today—I wasn’t paying attention one bit!”

He waited a dramatic pause and then looked at Natalie and shrugged. She threw her head back and cackled, a sound to rival Bellatrix Lestrange. “Get your ass out here and fight like a man, Son of Leveau. Your mother and grandmother never would have cowered in their home when faced with a duel!”

It was this precise moment that Henri, Calypso, Narcissa, Ginny, Harry, Theo and Hermione all emerged from the woods lining Henri’s bayou. Natalie looked around at all of them, her eyes stopping on Theo and Ginny before she stared down Hermione. “Avada Ked—”  


“NO!” Draco screamed and he threw a shielding charm around Hermione.

Natalie swung around to face him and her face looked murderous. “You lied to me?” she shrieked.

Draco raised his wand to her face as he approached her. “It’s not my fault you were stupid enough to buy it so easily. Rule number one of being a leading Dark witch—trust no one. The Dark Lord instilled that in me from day one.”

“Nathaniel, kill them!”

She looked around and saw her twin leaning lazily against the front porch banister, twirling his wand between his fingers like a drumstick, Ginny with her wand to his throat in case he tried to betray them. “No. I think I’ve taken enough orders from you for a lifetime, Natalie.”

“We’re taking you to the MACUSA Aurors! You’re done for—you and your dragon fighting father,” Harry called.

Natalie laughed bitterly once more. “No one will believe you. We’ve got the President in our back pocket!”

The circle of magical beings closed in around her, with Draco standing directly in front of her. “We’ve got the books. The names of every one of your father’s contacts across the United States. Monetary figures of illegal bets he facilitated. And we have the poppet. You’re done, LeRoux,” he said, his face close enough to kiss her as he whispered venom.

Natalie looked at him and he felt the anger rolling off of her, the crackle of her Dark Magic between them. He saw into her mind in just the right moment—she was getting ready to send another, wordless Killing Curse toward Hermione. He shot a binding curse at her and she fell to her knees, transfiguring into an auburn colored fox before the ropes could bind her.

Narcissa launched forward and grabbed her, scooping her up in her arms. “Petrify her!”

As Theo raised his wand to do that, Natalie began to squirm in Narcissa’s arms and the older witch had a hard time holding her still. Theo hesitated a moment too long, worried he’d hit the blond by accident. Natalie turned and bit Narcissa in the neck, tearing through to the muscle. She shrieked and dropped the fox. “Mother!” Draco screamed, running to his mother’s side.

Hermione was already there, applying pressure to reduce bleeding as Calypso grabbed handfuls of swamp mud to pack the wound. “Get her!” Nathaniel screamed, running toward his animalized twin, firing petrifying curses that she zig-zagged away from.

Ginny kept her wand trained on Nathaniel. Theo followed and Henri stopped and let out a long, eerie sounding whistle. Everyone put their hands over their ears as he did, the tone piercing the air and rattling them through to their cores. The birds flew from the trees in a frantic swarm at the sound.

They all turned in the direction Henri was staring, at the edge of the bayou waters. The tiny red fox was running along the banks, her four little feet splashing in the swampy water. Later, when faced with the interrogation from the MACUSA Aurors, they would all claim that what happened next absolutely happened in slow motion.

A gigantic, fifteen-foot alligator emerged from the water, snapping its jaws around the little fox, tufts of red fur flying into the air. “NATALIE!” Nathaniel’s scream shook through all of them.

“What the fuck was that?” Theo said, frozen where he stood.

“Dat was Sassy,” Henri replied, fighting a smile.

“You called your pet alligator to kill her?” Nathaniel accused incredulously.

“No, no, LeRoux. I was tryin’ tuh make huh stop in huh tracks, like a dog whistle. Sassy smelled her,” Henri told him as a ball of red fur blew past.

“You killed her! This wasn’t in our agreement!” the red-head said, raising his wand.

“Nathaniel, put the wand down. You are vastly outnumbered,” Ginny told him, gesturing around them.

Draco, Calypso and Hermione were crowding around Narcissa, the blood flowing from her neck being stopped by a healthy chunk of swamp mud. “Mother, how are you feeling?”

“I’m a touch lightheaded, dear,” she told him, tapping her fingers against his face lovingly.

“Help me levitate her inside,” Calypso said to them, standing.

Hermione put a board-stiff charm on Narcissa’s body and the two women levitated her inside to lay on the couch for Calypso to attend to better. Draco held her hand and walked alongside her. “It’s going to be okay, Mother. Caly is a fantastic Healer.”

“Are you all right, my little Dragon?” his mother asked, her face screwing up in worry for him.

“I’m just dandy. I need to go back out there with Potter. MACUSA will be here soon, I’m sure.”

“Go. These two will take care of me,” she told him, tapping his hand with the one he wasn’t holding.

Draco nodded once and turned to Hermione. The overwhelming feeling of relief in his body was nearly too much and he suddenly felt as though he’d cry. The threat was over. Truly. He could get back to loving on his witch, doting on her every second of every day he was with her. They could carry on a normal life. Normal. He didn’t truly know what that meant anymore.

He went outside to where Theo and Ginny were detaining a crying Nathaniel—apparently, the death of his twin was a little more than he bargained for. Draco could almost sympathize. Almost. Harry and Theo were waiting at the edge of the property, waiting for the MACUSA agents to arrive. Henri was stroking between the eyes of a ferocious beast, his pant legs rolled up and feet in the swamp water with the gator.

The bastard was truly insane. Draco had no doubt that the whistle was some kind of a call to his pet, but no one would ever be able to prove it. Henri had taken the moment into his own hands, ending the Leveau-LeRoux feud once and for all. Draco hadn’t seriously entertained the idea of killing Natalie—though he’d fantasized about it on numerous occasions. He just never expected it to happen. Now that it had, he had no idea what to feel.

There was a series of five loud crack! noises and five Aurors arrived. They looked around and stepped forward. “Harry Potter?” one asked, smiling widely as he held out his hand to shake.

Harry took his hand. “The one and only. We’ve…had an incident here…”

o-o-o

Draco sat on the edge of his bed, thoroughly exhausted. Hermione was finishing up in the shower, the steam rolling through the room, fogging the mirror on his dresser. He looked down at his arm—his Mark was nearly gone now. He was going to be without it after one more mud and formaldehyde treatment. The bane of his existence for so long, gone. He didn’t know how to thank Henri for that.

The Aurors had interrogated them all for hours, and withdrew memories from each of them. All of their stories corroborated one another. They were assured that there would be no consequences for Natalie’s death—it was an unfortunate “accident.” They’d forced him to tear the poppet, limb from limb. Draco had felt the Dark magic ripple through him each time he tore a limb from the small wax figure—a truly impressive likeness of him, complete with tiny Dark Mark.

It was all over the late-night news—local funeral home mogul arrested for money laundering. The Aurors had spun the story to explain to muggles the arrest of their community leader—the fallen funeral home, riddled with issue after issue.

Hermione exited the bathroom, wearing a pair of knickers and one of his white undershirts for pajamas. She came up behind him, crawling across the bed to grab his shoulders, massaging the knots with her thumbs. “How are you feeling?” she asked him quietly, peppering his bare shoulder with tender kisses.

Draco sighed. “Fine, I guess. You? How are you holding up?”

He didn’t have to see her to know she was biting her bottom lip. “We just watched someone die. Again. I’m honestly afraid this might set me back into the nightmares,” she admitted.

Draco turned to her, pulling her arm so she came around to him, scooting into his lap. He gave her tiny pecks to her gnawed lip, running a hand soothingly over her back. “There’s no way I’ll let that happen to you, love. I’ve got some Dreamless Draught in my drawer. Let’s take it and sleep. Peacefully for the first time since Natalie came along.”

o-o-o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Natalie went DOWN. BOOM!
> 
> Okay, so there’s going to be one more chapter to this. One, perhaps long, chapter. The lunar ritual and the wedding. Those two go hand in hand, so they need to be the same chapter, to flow.
> 
> You guys. I’m getting sad. One more chapter.
> 
> Seriously, I had so much more of their lives planned when I was still in October of Fire and Ice. I knew about Hermione’s pregnancy. The death of one of their twins at birth. Draco was going to hand carve a small casket and that was going to be the thing that forced him out of the funeral business and into something more conventional in the wizarding world. He was going to fall into a very dark place once more, shaking his and Hermione’s marriage to the core…It was going to be angsty, more in the vein of F&I than this sequel.
> 
> I just…I don’t think I can do a third installment of this…
> 
> Thank you for the support. Please review! I’m gonna go sob in the corner and avoid thinking about the fact that I had planned a full life for these two but am going to stop with their wedding instead.


	24. Chapter 24

The length of time needed to complete the lunar ritual was forty-one days. In the week after Natalie’s downfall, everyone had returned to their homes in England, save Narcissa. She stayed with Hermione and Draco. And, beginning on the night of the ninth of November, the betrothed couple were allowed no contact. Draco went to stay with Henri during this time.

Natalie’s death, though warranted, had affected the two of them. Just as Hermione had predicted, she’d begun having nightmares the first night she braved sleeping without Dreamless Draught. Draco had held her each night, himself refusing Dreamless Draught so he could comfort her in the event of an episode. She feared his leaving almost as much as she was saddened by it.

It was another tearful goodbye, worse somehow, than when he’d left her in Australia to start their life in America. Hermione watched him pull down their drive and blow her a kiss before he disappeared for a month. She couldn’t shake the bad feeling she had that something would happen to him. Nathaniel had laid low in the month since his twin’s death, but there was the ever-present threat that he would snap. Hermione tried not to think about it.

Narcissa came to stand on the porch with her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Well, Miss Granger, why don’t we begin?”

Hermione nodded. Since they’d been rid of Natalie, Narcissa had been doting over Hermione, ensuring she ate a proper diet, trying to get her the proper amount of rest by way of sleeping potions, making sure she wasn’t over exerting herself at the sanctuary, giving her a series of health intensifying potions. All in an effort to sync her natural cycle with the moon’s. And, Hermione had to hand it to her, Narcissa had been spot on. It was the New Moon, and she was right on course.

Narcissa led her up to her room, where there was a thin white garment made of delicate lace laid out on the bed. “This was my fertility gown when I was getting married to Lucius,” she told Hermione, lovingly running a finger across it. “I know it is thin, dear, but it’s just us women here. No need to be shy.”

Hermione bit her lip. These topics—natural cycles, nudity, sex—they were not discussed in her own home growing up and she was trying her hardest to accept that it was necessary to speak of with her mother-in-law. Now she’d be dressed in only a thin gown, completely translucent, in front of her.

“Come now. Undress and wash yourself down with this rose water,” Narcissa indicated to an antique washbowl, engraved with the Black family crest.

Hermione undressed quickly as Narcissa prepared a basket to bring with them. She pulled on the gown, and despite herself, she felt feminine. Narcissa turned back to her and gave her a gentle smile. “Fits perfectly,” she remarked, clearly pleased. “Come, let us go out into the night.”

She held her hand out for Hermione to take and together they made their way into the backyard. With the New Moon, there was no real light in the vast land surrounding the house, but the two women seemed to glow from within. They made their way down to a path Narcissa had created with magnolia trees—quite expertly and efficiently in the short time she’d been in Louisiana.

Narcissa stopped them and she set the basket down. From within, she retrieved a crown she’d made of a myriad of flowers—roses, amaryllis, lavender. She placed it on Hermione’s head and then retrieved a large vial of water. “I’ve been charging this water for three moon cycles. The energy within should be just right,” she told Hermione, handing her a group of herbs, sticks and dried flowers, all bundled together with intricately laced ribbon.

Hermione looked at the strange implement. “Take some water and flick it on each tree, dear. For good health.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow and did as instructed, up one side of the path and down the other. She returned to Narcissa, who was smiling as she watched. “Good dear. Libations are important offerings to Mother Earth. Water will ensure your health. Now, we need to ask an intention—something meaningful and geared toward a long and healthy life.”

She took Hermione’s hand once more and led them out of the trees and into the open air. She raised their clasped hands toward the sky, her other as well. Hermione followed suit, closing her eyes as she angled her face upward as well. “Mother, we offer these gifts to you over the next month in hopes that you will ensure a healthy, prosperous and loving life between Hermione and Draco. Strengthen her womb and ease her mind as you work within her.”

They stood there a moment more, a gentle breeze blowing around them, rustling the branches of the magnolia trees. Narcissa began to walk in a quick circle, dragging Hermione as well. A whirlpool of air formed between them and then burst forth, ruffling Hermione’s curls with a cool force. “We can head in when you’re ready,” Narcissa stated, satisfied with their work for the evening.

They went inside and Hermione changed into more acceptable clothing. She knocked softly at Narcissa’s bedroom door and entered when her soft call sounded. “I just wondered if we could talk.”

Narcissa looked at her and then gestured toward the bed next to her. “What is it?”

Hermione didn’t know how to broach the subject. Her mind had been racing all day and it only intensified with Draco’s absence. “I just wondered…you don’t think we’re rushing into things, do you?”

Narcissa’s brow furrowed in a way that reminded her exactly of Draco as she came to sit next to the older witch. “Do you love him?”

Hermione bit her lip. “More than anything.”

“Then what is the problem?” she asked.

“I know that the courting phase usually lasts two years…we’ve been together a little less than one year,” Hermione replied, toying with Draco’s signet ring around her neck, careful not to summon him.

“Do you see your feelings changing in the next year?” Narcissa asked her.

Hermione looked up into the witch’s blue eyes and her mouth parted slightly. “Only if they strengthen.”

Narcissa gave her a kind smile that, one year ago, would have never graced her face in Hermione’s presence. She brushed the younger witch’s hair over her shoulder. “Then, I ask you again, what is the problem?”

“I just don’t want to ruin things. I want to do things the way he’s accustomed to. This whole relationship has been him giving, giving, giving. And I’ve done nothing to reciprocate. I just want to give him something in return,” Hermione told her, drawing in a deep breath to keep from crying.

“You’ve softened him, dear. You’ve loved him, a task that, at times, was difficult. You moved across the Atlantic Ocean to give him the opportunity to live out his dreams. You’re marrying him. He asked you. He’s ready. Who cares if it’s one year or two?”

She was right, but Hermione still felt a small pang of guilt as she thought of some of the past fights she’d had with Draco. “So much has changed in one year already.”

Narcissa smiled slightly. “For the better. It’ll only keep getting better, dear. When Draco was young, I told him of the concept of twin flames.”

“He explained it to me.”

Narcissa’s smile widened. “You are, without a doubt, twin flames. Tumultuous, rocky and resistant at first. But fiery, passionate and fiercely loving after a while.”

“I want to incorporate that into our ceremony,” Hermione stated with a small voice.

o-o-o

On the first night of the Full Moon, Hermione donned her gown and went into the backyard once more. They’d been at it nearly two weeks, and it was becoming a soothing ritual. Hermione had never felt so immensely feminine and powerful in her life. There was a new respect she held for the Malfoy matriarch as she guided her carefully each night.

She was desperately missing her betrothed. As much as she wanted to cheat and call him on the mobile phone late at night as she stared out at the same moon he was likely watching, she refrained. Hermione had put too much effort into this ritual to ruin it with any contact—verbal, physical or otherwise. As she carried a bowl of honey into the magnolia path, she wondered what he was doing at that very moment, miles away.

Narcissa stopped her halfway down the path. “Here. It’s perfect. Take the honey dipper and create a large circle around yourself.”

Hermione spun slowly in a circle, dripping honey around her in a circle. Once almost done, Narcissa stopped her and pulled her out of the circle. “Close it from outside and then draw the runes for ‘purity’ and ‘love’ within. Honey is a libation offering, hopefully to bring about a deep connection with all things surrounding you. Just as bees pollinate and bring about the life of flowers, we ask that the moon and the earth bring about life within you—when the timing is right.”

o-o-o

On the twenty-eighth night, Draco was going stir-crazy in Henri’s cabin. It had been so long since he’d seen his witch, heard her sweet voice, saw the fire in her eyes as he riled her up. He was pacing the living room while Henri and Calypso watched him wearily.

“Draygo, why don’ yuh sit?” Henri offered chair to him, trying to watch the football game on the television behind him.

“Henri, I don’t want to sit. I just want to go home to my girl,” Draco replied, running his hands through his hair.

“Well, Pony, I wan’ yuh tuh sit. Yuh makin’ me dizzy. Sit.”

“I’ll go make you some tea, Draco,” Caly told him, her subtle French accent soothing.

Draco sat down and tried to concentrate on the television but found he really didn’t care if the Sinners won. He cursed his Pureblooded family and their archaic ways. He just wanted Hermione.

o-o-o

After one full cycle, they were back on the New Moon on the twenty-ninth night. They went out and offered wine. Hermione poured a little at the base of each tree down both sides of the path before Narcissa had her come back to the center of the path. The honey had since washed away, but Narcissa had spent the afternoon tilling the soil in a large circular shape.

“Together, we shall draw the Malfoy family crest. We’ll leave out the motto, of course. The only purity we care about now is the cleansing of your body in preparation for your life with Draco, in preparing your womb.”

o-o-o

On the forty-first night, Theo, Potter, Longbottom, Henri, Blaise and Adam all gathered around Draco. “I will kill you all, what are you doing? What in Merlin’s fucking saggy sack are you dooooiiiiinnnnnnggggg?”

He let out a loud howl as the men held him down and placed a discoloration charm on his precious bits, which was freezing when it touched his flesh. “He’s going to be visible from space!” Adam laughed gleefully as he held Draco’s arms down.

Blaise was enjoying holding him down with a forearm across his chest a little too much. “I am going to kill all of you!” Draco screeched.

When he stood, he looked down at their work and found he was glowing bright, fluorescent green from the waist down. “You’ve turned me into a damn glowstick!”

Potter, Theo and Henri were all laughing too hard to stand upright, hanging on each other to keep themselves up. Blaise and Adam were both sporting equal smirks. “Very funny. How do I get it off?”

“You have to leave it on, that way the stripper knows where to dance,” Theo told him.

Draco’s eyes grew wide and he shook his head. “No. Absolutely not. I have no desire to see other naked women.”

“Who said it was a woman?” Adam smirked.

“Or a human?” Potter added, grinning.

“I am going to kill you all,” Draco told them, stuffing his shirt back into his pants with an angry huff.

o-o-o

Hermione sat in a chair the next evening while half a dozen women flitted around her. “Draco isn’t going to be able to keep his hands off of you!” Ginny exclaimed, swiping some Sleek Eazy through her curls.

“Or his mouth,” Luna added, weaving together a few more flowers for her crown.

“He is Lucius’ son,” Narcissa laughed.

Hermione thought she would absolutely die. “So, what have you picked out to wear underneath, dear?” Molly asked her.

“Underneath where?” she asked, as Calypso painted her lips with a natural stain.

“Your dress,” Ginny said.

“I was going to wear…underwear,” Hermione told them.

Ginny’s face was horrified. “What underwear?”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “I don’t know. My drawer is over there—”

“No. Absolutely not. I was afraid of this,” Ginny replied, leaving the room.

She came back with a small package. “I bought this, just in case you didn’t have the foresight to plan this.”

Luna turned around and opened the package and all of the women let out an “Ooooh!” as she lifted a set of undergarments from the bag.

Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen such tiny underwear, such scarce material. It was thin and Slytherin emerald with black accents and a small snake charm dangling on the bra. She let out a groan. “No.”

“Come on, ‘Mione. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s slithered in,” Ginny retorted, moving to her hair once more.

“Ginny!” Molly admonished, though she let out a giggle.

“Sweet Merlin, strike me down,” Hermione prayed.

“It’s time, dear,” Narcissa remarked, eyeing the Muggle clock on the wall.

They were to time it just so, that when they finished their ceremony, the newlyweds would be walking to the gazebo at precisely midnight. Narcissa insisted that it would be important for them to ring in Yule together as a couple.

Hermione stood up and the women attacked like vultures once more, pulling her clothing off. It was a whirl as she was put into the skimpy underclothing, Ginny placing a light smack to her rear and muttering, “I’d better hear every detail of how he rips this off with his teeth.” Next, her dress was pulled up and over her shoulders.

It was a simple dress, flowy and short sleeved with light, airy shoulders. There was intricate lacing up the back and it had a very earthy feel over all. Not the gown of her childhood dreams, but exactly what she needed. She wore emerald colored jewels twisted like sandal tops, beaded and beautiful on her bare feet.

Narcissa placed some of her own jewels around her neck and on her ears, old emerald family heirlooms. Hermione felt a pang of sadness as she thought of her own mother and father. Muggles couldn’t witness magic and therefore weren’t allowed to attend the ceremony. As a compromise, Draco had offered to spend Christmas Eve and Day with her parents in Australia before they set out on their honeymoon. She felt guilty as she thought of the fact that they wouldn’t see her walk down the aisle.

When the women stepped back, they all let out a collective squeal of joy. Hermione turned to look at herself in the mirror. Ginny had softened her hair, weaving white flowers throughout, Luna’s crown of flowers resting on top. Her gown was perfect, modest and unassuming, but beautiful nonetheless. Her lips were a deep ruby and her eyes a glint of gold. Little pops of green stuck out and she touched the necklace Narcissa had given her, feeling the magic running through it.

“How do I look?” Hermione asked, her heart beginning to thrum wildly as the minutes counted down.

“Like a Malfoy,” Narcissa replied, grinning widely at Hermione’s reflection.

Hermione bit her lip and Calypso swatted her arm. “No. Don’t do that. You’ll ruin the stain.”

“Ladies, let us take our seats,” Narcissa said the room collectively.

They were not going to do a formal bridal processional, per Hermione’s request. No bridesmaids. No groomsmen. Just the two of them and Minister Shacklebolt officiating. Hermione knew she had to go and stand in their kitchen and wait for the musical cue to walk toward her wizard.

The others poked and prodded her one last time, straightening her sash, plucking a flower and repositioning it in the crown and pulling her hair out and around her face. They all gave her a hug and left one at a time. Narcissa gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Welcome to the family.”

Molly watched Narcissa leave. “I always thought when you walked down the aisle, it would be to my own son. But Draco…he’s good for you. I’m happy you’ve got him in your life. Don’t worry about Ron, dear. He’ll come around eventually.”

Hermione felt another pang of guilty sadness at the absence of her best friend and gave Molly a kind smile. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

“I’m not,” Molly told her, kissing her cheek and pulling her into a tight hug. “Now,” she said, wiping a tear, “go get married.”

She went to take her seat and Hermione was left alone. She leaned against the kitchen counter, her heart beating faster and harder than it ever had. Her ears were ringing with the force of it and she could feel her magic crackling within her in vibrating anxiety. She took some deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just as she was taught all those months ago.

Hermione heard the soft strum of a charmed harp and knew it was time to walk. She prayed to any god that would listen that she not trip in front of everyone. She took one more steadying breath and walked out of the back door and down the stairs of the porch to the entry of the path created by the magnolia trees. The trees had flowered, despite it being December. There were fairy lights hung in all of them, glowing bright. Narcissa had decorated with flowers native to Louisiana, kept alive by magic and a little TLC. The wedding could have been in June, as warm as the magical sphere surrounding them was.

Everyone stood as she came to stand still, but she noticed none of them. Her sight was on one individual—a beautiful blond man, grinning broadly at the sight of her. Theo was standing next to him at his seat and clapped him on the back. Draco fist pumped lightly and laughed heartily with his oldest friend before Theo moved away once more.

Hermione walked slowly and it seemed as though his smile grew wider with every step. His cheeks were flushed lightly and his teeth were bared in a genuinely happy smile. It warmed Hermione’s heart as she smiled back shyly. He was wearing a matching crown of flowers and a black suit, crisp white shirt and a green tie to match her.

When she reached the front, she stood in front of him, and he took her hand to lead her up the two steps to where Shacklebolt stood. “Hermione, you look lovely,” the Minister whispered with a smile.

She and Draco turned to face each other and he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it sweetly. “I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered to her, grabbing her wrist with his opposite hand, much like an Unbreakable Vow.

“Me too,” she told him.

“I can’t wait to be alone,” he told her, giving her a wink.

Her eyebrow jumped in acknowledgment and the Minister cleared his throat. “It is not often I have the honor of officiating a handfasting ceremony. Even rarer still that I am asked to officiate for such brave and prominent figures in the War. These two are incredible individually, but together? They are the ultimate power couple—brilliant, passionate and attractive,” he said, earning laughs from a few guests.

“I believe I speak for the entire wizarding world when I wish you both a life of happiness, prosperity and love,” the Minister told them, placing his wand on their clasped hands.

He began to slowly drag his wand over their hands. “These hands are the hands of your best friend, young and strong and full of love, that hold yours on your wedding day. These are the hands that will work alongside yours as you build your future together. These are the hands that will love you passionately and care for you throughout the years. These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief torments your mind and with the slightest touch, will comfort you like no other. These are the hands that will give you strength when you struggle and support and encourage you to chase your dreams. These are the hands that will tenderly hold your children and help keep your family together as one. These are the hands that will, countless times, wipe the tears from your eyes, tears of sorrow, tears of joy. And lastly, these are the hands that, even when wrinkled with age, will still be reaching for yours, still giving you the same unspoken tenderness with just a touch.”

As he spoke, a green, ornate ribbon came from the end of his wand and braided itself around their hands and wrists. “Draco, I believe you had vows?”

Draco smiled at her and slowly dragged his teeth over his bottom lip as he did. “We started out foes—this much is absolutely true. But in the last year, I have grown to love you more than the waves love the shore, the moon loves the stars, the sun loves the horizon, the day loves the night. My love for you will always keep me coming back to you. I look forward to an eternity with you: my friend, my love, my flame.”

As he spoke, the ribbons tightened slightly and he retrieved a band, studded with more diamonds from a hovering pillow next to them and slipped it onto her finger with her engagement ring. Hermione felt like she’d cry. He lifted his free hand and swiped it across her quivering lip. He shook his head slightly, encouraging her to keep going, don’t break down yet.

“A wise wizard once told me about the concept of a twin flame. Like fire, we consumed and devoured each other at first, hateful and contemptuous. But, just as flames slow from a roar to a crackle, you became an ember that will burn within my heart forever. I hope our lives are fiery, passionate and full of love and hope. I love you more than anything, and I can’t wait for our love to burn eternally,” she told him, and the ribbon winded tighter still as she slipped a simple platinum band on his finger.

And, much to the surprise of everyone around them, their clasped hands caught fire. A bright blue flame, one that didn’t scorch them or their surroundings grew and spread to engulf them. The Minister smiled and tapped their hands once more and the ribbon disappeared into their skin with a tingle. The flames burned around them as Draco pulled her to himself, putting his hands on either side of her face and lifted it toward his. He stepped in as close as possible and Hermione snaked her arms around his neck.

The guests all began to holler and whistle and Draco smiled into her lips as the flame grew ever higher and began to swirl up and away through the trees, leaving them warm and encompassed by a palpable love. Just as she had on their first kiss, Draco kissed her lips for a brief moment before pulling away and repositioning to kiss her again. And when he pulled away a second time, he was grinning so widely, their kisses were a mere bumbling of lips when they connected again briefly. “I love you,” he whispered to her, ignoring everyone around them.

“I love you, too,” she told him, leaning up for another kiss.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he said with a smirk.

“Mrs. Granger-Malfoy,” she retorted and he narrowed his eyes at her, still smirking.

“Kidding. Hermione Jean Malfoy,” she told him, leaning into him once more and kissing his lips sweetly, running her fingers along his jaw.

“Okay, you two…to the love nest!” Theo shouted and everyone else around them cheered.

Hermione let out a groan and dragged her face away from Draco’s to glare at Theo, who was smiling a smirk of his own. Draco looked pleased with everything as he gave Theo a wink. Hermione swatted him and rolled her eyes. “My wife and I thank you all for attending. Please enjoy yourselves at the reception,” Draco said with a nod, walking forward and pulling Hermione gently.

They walked between two magnolia trees and out into the expansive yard, the cheers and cries of their friends dying down the farther they got. With her bare feet, the grass tickled between her toes and she relished the feel. Her gown dragged behind her, billowing behind her in the gentle breeze.

Next to her, Draco was still smiling, pulling the flower crown from his head and tossing it aside. “My wife. I love the sound of that.”

“My husband. Hmm. That does have a nice ring to it,” she told him, giving his hand a squeeze.

He pulled her arm and spun her to face him, halting their path. “I…I just wanted to thank you, Hermione.”

She wrinkled her brow and lifted her fingers to caress his smooth jaw. “For what?”

“I was…such an insufferable arsehole when we got to school last year…you pulled me out of that, made me see that I could be a good man, someone worthy of you. I can’t thank you enough for not giving up on me,” he told her, delicately pushing her hair behind her ear.

“I promised you, last Halloween, after the masquerade ball, that I wouldn’t give up in you. I made you a promise that I would fight, and I did and will continue to do so. Most days, I’m the one who is unworthy. But…the pushing and pulling is over, Draco. I am yours and you are mine,” she told him, emotion causing her voice to catch in her throat.

He brought his lips to hers once more and planted a gentle kiss before he took her hand and continued their path. “I never want to be apart again. This last month…not even being able to call you…I couldn’t handle it again.”

“We never have to be apart again,” she told him with a smile.

They approached the gazebo, tucked safely into the woods. It was decorated with more will-o-the-wisps, nestled into ivy and flower garland. It twinkled pleasantly in the night. The sky was clear and the moon full, forty-two days after they first separated. He opened the little half-door that led into the painted white structure and held his hand so she could brace hers in it as she stepped up into it. The inside was cushioned with luxurious looking pillows, made of the finest silk Narcissa Malfoy could buy. There were soft velveteen blankets piled up on the bench to one side. The atmosphere certainly had a romantic ambience and there was no mistaking the purpose of this structure.

Draco snorted a laugh next to her. “Baby-making decorum,” he told her with a grin before he pulled her crown of flowers from her head and tossed it onto the bench.

Hermione let out a gentle laugh as well and placed her hands on his chest, running them under his coat and up to his neck, where she buried her fingers into his hair. He unclasped her necklace and earrings and placed them gently to the side, pride shining in his eyes at the sight of his witch wearing his family’s heirlooms. She undid his tie and slid it from around his neck.

He brought his lips to hers, pressing a feather light kiss before dragging them slowly over her jaw and to her neck. His hands expertly undid the buttons lining her back, though she felt them tremble against her skin. She pushed the coat from his shoulders before undoing the buttons of his shirt slowly. He’d opted out of an undershirt and she ran her fingers over the thin tuft of blond hairs in the center of his chest as he nuzzled her neck.

She undid the buckle of his belt and pants, sliding her hands over his narrow hips and pulling him closer. He lifted away from her and pulled the sleeves of her gown down her arms slowly, dragging his fingertips over so lightly over her flesh as he did. It fell from her form once it wasn’t being held up any longer. Draco helped her step out of it and then picked it up and delicately folded it. “Save that for our daughter,” he told her before turning around and seeing her in the embarrassing underclothing the other women had forced her into.

“Merlin, Malfoy. I’m trying to take this slow, but you’re wearing my House colors. Looking so tantalizing,” Draco told her, grabbing her hips and pressing his fingers into her skin.

She smiled and she was unsure of why she had dragonflies fluttering around in her belly—they’d done this a hundred times. He seemed to feel the same, if his trembling was any indicator. She grew courage from this and slid her hands into his trousers once more, sliding them down his legs. When she looked down, she burst into fits of laughter. “What the—” he was positively luminescent below his waist.

Draco looked down and smirked. “At least he’s the right color now,” he told her and she quirked an amused eyebrow.

He shook his head with a laugh and tugged her hand to pull her down with him to their knees. He pulled her flush against him and into a tight embrace, placing kisses on her sunkissed shoulders. “I am so in love with you, Draco,” Hermione told him, running her fingers over his back as she squeezed him tight.

He pulled back, a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his lips. “Properly?”

“Properly,” she confirmed.

“Always?” he asked, laying her back into the cushions.

“And forever,” she told him, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead.

And to think, once upon a time, they’d almost given this up—being properly in love.

-THE END-

o-o-o


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